


I Tried to Find the Sun

by starforged



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Drabbles, F/F, F/M, Gen, meme prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 58
Words: 21,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3126419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starforged/pseuds/starforged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of drabbles from tumblr memes ft. all sorts of characters, pairings, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So Darkness I Became

**Author's Note:**

> Cagamosis: An Unhappy Marriage

There is no ring. Not because Alina doesn’t ask for it, but because it is a concept that means nothing to the Darkling. She doesn’t ask because she doesn’t want it to weigh down her hand as much as everything else about them does. He doesn’t give it to her because the collar resting on her shoulders is good enough. It’s more.

It’s power and their connection, that thread that links them both together: for the dark cannot exist without the light.

They’re bound by time, power. Amplifiers.

His fingers caress her chin, two of them applying gentle pressure until her head is tilted up and she can do nothing more than stare into his slate eyes. There is darkness there, but there is also light. A sort of madness that shines back out at her, and Alina wonders if sometimes it doesn’t shine back out at him. 

_You might make me a better man._

Alina doesn’t think she has. What he is is a more balanced man, his metaphorical leash extending only so far before she pulls him back in. This is for the good of Ravka, she tells herself at night. In the morning. Throughout the day. When his shadows wrap around her until the light is choked out and the only solace that can be found is in his arms.

There is no better, but there is also no worse.

"Something is bothering you," he says to her.

The frown that was already present on her lips deepens further. “Something’s always bothering me.”

Him. The weight of their existence. His crimes.  _Her crimes_. The death that clings to her in the form of Mal, the monster that is Nikolai that she has forbade him from killing.

Those fingers move along her jaw until his hand cups her cheek, thumb brushing soft circles over her skin. He’s warm when he’s usually so cold, and she feels that inevitable pull in her gut that makes her want to be with him, to join the light with the darkness. It’s the part of herself that is the monster, that belongs solely to him and him alone.

"Haven’t I given you exactly what you wanted?" the Darkling breathes against her mouth, lips barely forming over hers. Baiting her, testing her.  _Teasing her_.

"If pain and suffering is a wedding gift, you might want to think that over again," Alina snaps, pushing him away and taking large steps back. Breathing room.

He smirks at her, his lips curling up. It doesn’t make her heart race in excitement, but dread. There are still so many ways he can break her, and they both know it. 

"I can do better," he promises. She believes him, stupidly enough.

He will do anything that keeps her at his side, whether it hurts or makes her feel good.

There is no fine line between love and hate when it comes to her feelings. They are all the same, the root where he begins and she ends.


	2. Always In This Twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lab Partners AU + Malina

The seat next to Mal Oretsev is blissfully empty. And then Alina sighs at herself for even thinking the word “blissful”, as if she has some sort of claim over her best friend, anyway. But the seat is empty and when he sees her walk into the room - five minutes late to class - his face erupts into a bright grin. His hand raises to wave her over, and there are a ton of eyes on her as she maneuvers around desks full of quiet students until she can plop into the seat next to him.

Alina can’t be sure if they’re stares of jealousy or annoyance. She is, after all, late to the first class of the semester.

Mal leans in, broad shoulder brushing against hers. His breath is warm on her cheek when he talks in a low whisper. “I saved your seat. Figured you’d need a good lab partner for this.”

She struggles to hide her grin, eyes rolling as their professor - Professor Morozova, if the neat and distinct handwriting on the board is anything to go by - finally begins the class. “It’s just a social psych lab, Mal. We’re not in high school chemistry anymore.”

Which had been a disaster. An… explosive disaster to say the least. If it hadn’t been for Mal, Alina’s sure she would have blown the school up in a flash of light. She was too clumsy to handle chemicals.

But this? It was psychology. How bad could it be?

Still, her fingers travel over the back of his hand to squeeze his lightly.

She’s glad he’s here to be her partner.

“Okay, so maybe I’m the one who needs a good partner to trust.”

“That’s me,” she mutters under her breath before digging out a notebook. Mal hands her a pen not a second later, as if he already knows she’s lost hers.

Which she has, of course.


	3. I Screamed Aloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two miserable people at a wedding au + Alarkling

Alina hates everything. The frills of her dress and the weight it pulls on her body in the same way the antlers push down on her. She is covered in lace and satin and more jewels than any one person has a right to own, let alone wear on a dress. Her veil covers her hair so completely, it almost looks white. She is a vision, beautiful, and she hates it.

She hates the false party before her, the laughter of people who don’t know her and don’t care about her and are only here to gain favor from their new king. The food is bland, like dirt on her tongue, and the drinks she has imbibed have done nothing at all to dull her senses. She’s starting to wonder if perhaps her dearest husband has ordered the servants to not give her alcohol for that exact reason.

And mostly, she hates the man she has taken in marriage. The king. The Darkling. All to save Mal. All to protect a country that isn’t worth saving if this man rules.

She glowers at him as he approaches, a thin smile on his face.

“You’re beginning to make our esteemed guests talk,” he whispers in her ear as he bends down to kiss her cheek. “I refuse to lead you around if you continue to look like you might Cut them.”

“Good,” she growled. “Then I’ll just retreat to my room so nobody will be bothered by the sight of me.”

His fingers wrap tightly around her wrist, hard enough to bruise bone. “You will smile, Alina. You will act as though you are having a good time.”

“Or what? You got what you wanted. You got me.”

He brings her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the smooth skin as one of the Shu Han representatives walks past.

But the Darkling’s eyes are hard and sharp. “The tracker’s life is still in your hands. Do remember that the next time you glare at someone.”

By the end of the night, Alina’s cheeks ache from the force of her smile.


	4. They Have All Been Blown Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lab partners au + Nikoloya

A whirlwind stands over him, one hand on her hip. Nikolai raises his eyes slowly, starting at her knees left bare by the vibrant blue skirt of her dress, over the curve of her hip where her hand still rested, until he reaches her face. Her green eyes pin him down. She could kill him, he thinks.

He’s probably already dead.

Her dark curls roll over her bare shoulders, one black eyebrow arching at him. He smirks, and she copies the expression with a much more imperious look.

This is probably how male mantises feel before they’re devoured.

“Hello, Zoya,” he says amicably. “You’re looking lovely today.”

Zoya flips her hair over her shoulder with her free hand. “I look lovely everyday, Nikolai. And you’re in my seat.”

“Is that why you’re hovering over me? I thought you were going to ask me out.” He leans forward with a grin, chin in the palm of his hand.

“Why would I do that?” A finger presses into his shoulder, pushing hard. “I always sit on the left. You can sit on the right.”

“Oh, so I’m allowed to still sit here?” But he slides himself over, leaving her seat bare and warmed just for her. Exactly how she got that out of him, he isn’t sure. Some things were just better done than fought against. Zoya was the kind of girl that got what she wanted.

“I’ve decided that I’m going to allow you to be my partner,” she tells him.

“Ah,” he replies with the arch of an eyebrow.

“Yes. With your creative genius and my above-average intelligence, I see good grades in our future.” She studies her nails for a second, but he catches a sharp look from her out of the corner of her quite beautiful eyes. “And amazing things to put on my college applications.”

He presses a hand over his heart, sighing loudly. “You’re just using me for my brain.”

“For now,” she agrees.


	5. I Could Find My Way Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meeting at a masquerade ball + Malina

The man only catches her gaze because he’s trying  _so hard_  to not stand out that he is. Plain suit, plain mask, like he hasn’t quite gotten the idea of what the Firebird Ball is about. 

Some girls would find this to be horrible, but Alina thinks it makes him cute. It makes him seem brighter than the other peacocks in the room.  _Quite literally peacocks_ , as she spots Aleksander out of the corner of her eye, moving towards her.

It’s out of self-preservation, she tries to tell herself, to seek out this man who does not wish to be seen. Being caught in Aleksander’s sights is never a good thing.

The man in the plain mask stiffens briefly when she approaches, and she wonders if maybe she is everything too much for him. Her dress is a splash of color that looks much like fire when candlelight touches her, and the red-and-gold feather decorating her mask do kind of itch whenever they touch her bare skin. But Genya had assured her, as they came to the ball, that she was lovely. Exquisite. Sure to catch the eye of any man. 

Genya’s not one to lie about these sort of things.

But then the lines of his shoulder relax, and she relaxes with it. “You know, these things are usually for people to dress up at.”

He tries to scowl, but she can see the corners of his mouth lifting up. “I  _am_  dressed up.”

"As what?" Is she flirting? Is her voice appropriately flirtatious? Should she smile more? Touch his arm?

"The common man."

A grin spreads wide across her face, and his blue eyes sparkle down at her. They’re beautiful.  _He’s_ beautiful, like a painting. Alina thinks she likes the common man.

"Would—" He clears his throat for a second. "I see your peacock is after you, but would the firebird dance with the common man?"

Her lips purse, and she waits a beat or two, feigning having to think it over. “Yes, but the firebird is not a very good dancer.”

"It’s alright, you can stand on my feet if you need to look more graceful."

He takes her hand and leads her out onto the floor. He’s graceful, and she’s passable, but people still watch them.

"My name is Alina," she tells him as he spins her around, her skirt flaring like flames around her. 

"I know," he says in return. "I came here because I knew you would be."

That sends a happy thrum through her body, stomach doing flips. “Who are you?”

"Mal Oretsev."

"The butcher’s son is a graceful dancer," Alina laughs.

His arm slides around her waist. “Someone had to be here.”


	6. You Left Me In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> literally bumping into each au - Alarkling

Some might call it obsession, but Aleksander thinks of it as precision. As careful planning. And why shouldn’t he plan this as well as he plans anything else in his life? All good things take time. They take one predetermined moment that seems so innocent. 

Alina Starkov walks past his building nearly every night at the same time, give or take. She’s the waitress on the small diner he’s been frequenting lately, to get to know her better. To watch her. To plan.

She turns the corner, as he knows she will. 

And tonight, when she does, he puts himself purposely in her way. 

Alina gasps, hands fluttering up as she hits his body, her face into his chest. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” Her voice is muffled against him, and then, as if she’s just realized where she’s at, she takes a few hurried steps away from him.

His hands reach out, fingers lightly pressed into her shoulders as he moves to steady her. “It’s my fault,” he says smoothly. “I should have been watching where I was going.”

Her head tilts up as she gets a good look at him, and then her face goes a charming shade of red that makes her look more attractive. “No, I’m the one turning corners and not looking. You’re just the bystander here.”

He smiles, and her eyes light up a little as her gaze follows the lines of his mouth. “In that case, you might need to make it up to me.”

Her lips part, as if she’s going to say something but rethinks it. The blush stains her cheeks still, and she glances over his shoulder, as if trying to see something in the distance. He tries to not frown at the lack of attention. But then she looks at him again and smiles.

"Well, I just got off of work, or I’d say I’d get your black coffee," she laughs. "You’re Aleksander, right? From the diner?"

He nods. “And you’re Alina, my favorite waitress. I’d hate to make you go back to work, but how about I walk with you instead? Just to make sure that you don’t go around walking into any other bystanders.”

She chews her lip, hesitant. Tension grips him, the desire for her to say yes nearly choking him.

"Good idea. You seem to be solidly built." Her eyes widen. "Not that I… was checking that out or anything."

He shares a smile with her. “Feel free to.”


	7. I Took The Stars From My Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you're my best friend but you look super good in that shirt of mine right now - Malina

It’s a series of strange events that lead Alina to borrowing Mal’s shirt. The strange events being that she tried to smack him, and he ended up smearing pizza all over her, but really that’s her fault. He had no way of defending himself over the poorly timed joke. 

"I can’t believe you," Alina huffs from his bedroom. 

"I can’t believe me either. I was eating that," Mal says with a mournful tone.

She stomps her way back to the living room then, and he’s amazed about the amount of noise that small body of hers can make when she’s grumpy. He’s about to make a joke, about to laugh again and tease her when the sight of her stills his tongue. 

His shirt is long on her, hanging around mid-thigh, just barely above where his boxers end, too. That part he wasn’t aware of her going for, wasn’t aware that she’d be changing out of her pants. The shirt isn’t even anything spectacular. It’s faded and old and there’s a hole at the collar, but  _saints_  if she doesn’t - if he -

"There’s pizza on my face, isn’t there?" Alina asks angrily. She crosses her arms over her chest, making the shirt ride up over the blue boxers, and Mal finds himself wishing she hadn’t bothered with those. 

Then again, there’s something about her wearing his clothes that gets to him. He shifts on the couch and coughs. He’s thought about Alina before, sure, during his teenage years and just kind of getting into puberty.

But that’s not how he thinks of Alina, he tells himself. She’s his friend, the best one he’s got, the best one he’ll ever have. It’s just a stupid reaction to seeing a girl wearing his clothes, that’s all. It could have been anyone.

It’s not, though. It’s  _Alina_ , and she looks like she belongs in his clothes better than himself.

"No," he finally says, aware that he’s been letting his gaze sweep over her a little too obviously. "You look perfect."

Her ears go bright red when she blushes.


	8. I Heard Your Heart Beating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> high school au - Malina

Alina leans against a set of lockers, not particularly caring that they’re not hers or the fact that a lock is digging really uncomfortably into her hip. What she cares about is Zoya, tilting her head up at Mal and giving him that coy smile that Alina has practiced in the mirrors at home and found  _extremely_  lacking.

She can’t see Mal’s face. She can’t even hear what’s going on between, what sort of things Zoya is saying or trying to get out of Mal.

Her teeth dig into her lip, but she stays where she is, hidden by the rest of the crowd and the chatter of the other students until Zoya breezes away, like she carries her own personal wind with her wherever she goes.

Mal’s turning around to head in her direction when Alina pops out on his side. “Alina!” His face is bright, blue eyes on fire as he takes her in.

Her fingers grip the strap of her bag. “What’d Zoya want?”

They’re friends, Alina reminds herself. Her and Mal, that is. She isn’t really sure what her and Zoya are, but she’s definitely sure what Mal and Zoya  _used_  to be. And she shouldn’t be jealous, shouldn’t give into that dead sink in her stomach and the way it makes her sad and angry and defeated all at once.

“Prom,” Mal answers easily, like it should be that obvious to her.

Her smile tightens in the corners, forced and brittle. “Right. That thing.”

Mal laughs, throwing an arm around her shoulders and tugging her in closer. She relaxes into his warmth. “Yes, that thing. The thing you’ve also been talking about for months.”

Alina wrinkles her nose. “Not months. I’ve just mentioned it, maybe. Because Genya talks about it all the time, and I feel like it would disappoint her way too much if I refused to go and give her the chance to do a makeover on me. She lives to change me.”

“Giving her one night to transform you?”

She shrugs, feeling the weight of Mal’s arm. “Why not. So, you’re going with Zoya then?”

She keeps her gaze on the tiled floor.

“No,” Mal tells her softly, almost too soft. She lifts her face up to look at him. He’s watching her now, pulling them off to the side of the hall.

Her palms are sweaty, which is probably not the least bit attractive.

“I told her I already have a date.”

Alina snorts. “Yeah, how do you know someone hasn’t asked me yet?”

It’s probably not fair, but she enjoys the way his eyes flash dangerously, as though he doesn’t enjoy that idea.

“I guess I’ll be going alone,” he says lightly.

So it is her. He wants to go to prom with her. Why? Because he thinks someone really hasn’t asked her out? Because he thinks he owes it to her as a friend?

Maybe he sees those ideas flash over her face; he’s always been able to read her the best. He leans down, his mouth on the shell of her ear, his breath ghosting warmly over her cheek. “Will you go to prom with me, Alina Starkov?”

Alina’s eyes widen, and even though a grin spreads over her face, she can’t help but say, “Is this to save on gas money because we live in the same building?”

“You’ve caught me. That’s  _exactly_  it.”

“I’ll go with you, Malyen Oretsev.”

He looks like the happiest man in the world when she says that.


	9. So I Stayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keep each other warm + Genya/Ivan

Genya has experienced cold. Ravkan winters are cold. But they also signal warm fires that she can crouch in front of and her best furs.

True cold is being on this Saints-forsaken ship in the middle of a frozen ship. Her hair is plastered to her face, held together by particles of ice. If Alina had not run around, she would not be here. But then that thought makes her feel even dirtier than she already feels. And so much colder, too, as if her  _kefta_  has made her into something she didn’t want to be.

Or maybe it’s just revealed who she’s always been, just beneath the surface.

She shakes her head and stares out at the endless sea. All this cold is driving her mad. That’s it.

“You look ridiculous.”

The thorn in her side that is Ivan stands in front of her, like he always seems to do when she most definitely doesn’t want to see him. His cheeks are a faint pink from the bite of the wind, but otherwise he looks like he barely feels the cold. Does he even feel anything, she wonders? Has he crushed enough hearts to disconnect his own?

See, the cold is definitely affecting her.

She sniffs, narrowing her green gaze at him as if he’s nothing. “I don’t seem to remember asking for your opinion,” Genya says. “You’re obviously  _wrong_  opinion. You and I both know that I look amazing.”

The corner of his mouth twitches into something that could be misconstrued as a smile. “I’m giving it to you anyway, Genya.”

“Fine,” she snaps. “And what exactly makes me look so ridiculous?”

“You’re cold.”

“I look ridiculous because I’m cold?”

He glares at her. “You could go into your cabin and warm up instead of acting like you can handle the weather.”

She bares her teeth at him for a second before pulling her porcelain back on again. “If you can handle the weather, then so can I. Have I not proven that I am a soldier?”

Ivan is quiet before he lets out a sigh. He grabs her shoulder roughly, turning her around and giving her a push. She doesn’t expect it, stumbling forward. When she finally regains her footing, she spins on him, ready to retaliate -

Except he’s right there, closer than he ought to be, his chest brushing against hers when she faces him.

“I’m cold,” he tells her.

“You’re irritating is what you are,” Genya snaps, but she does see the blue tint around his lips now. She doesn’t really want to, but she thinks of the ways she could warm them again.

“If I’m cold, then you can be, too,” he pushes further. It’s like he’s unable to actually give her a compliment but she gets it.

He’s not saying she is less of a soldier than him.

This moron, this infuriating sadistic jackass is -

_Worried_. That’s what he is, that’s the look in his eyes, the barest flicker as he looks her over.

“Then you should go below and warm up,” she says to him.

“You first.”

They end up in her cabin, because it’s private, because they don’t want anyone to see them huddling down for warmth. His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her back against his chest as they curl up in the bed. She expects he’ll try something, but he doesn’t. His breath ghosts over the back of her neck as he presses his face into the crook between her neck and shoulder.

Reluctantly, slowly, her hands come to cover his as she stares at the wooden wall.

“Why does it matter to you, if I’m cold?” she asks after a while.

“Because you have already done enough for your part in this war. Freezing shouldn’t have to be part of it,” Ivan tells her simply. “But if you tell anyone I needed you for warmth, I will crush your heart without thinking.”

“How romantic of you,” she laughs under her breath, pressing herself closer to him.


	10. Fell From Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorority hazing au + Zoya/Alina

Alina has never thought much of Zoya, probably because she doesn’t know her well enough to care about her. Except that she’s beautiful. Except that she’s part of the biggest sorority on campus, and the people who end up in that place become the worst kind of asshole. 

Or, at least, that’s what Genya tells her when Alina receives an invitation to their open house (which she decidedly doesn’t go to - getting bullied to fit in isn’t really her thing). 

So she’s surprised, when she stumbles on the pledges with Zoya and another girl putting them through the test. Alina clenches her jaw, getting ready to step forward when she sees the other girl spraying water in Nadia’s face (they’re in the same Chemistry class, quiet Nadia). She steps forward to break the squirt gun, but Zoya’s already on it. 

She rips the gun from the girl’s hands. “ _Never_  the face!” And then she’s shooting the stream of water at her fellow sister, her body in front of Nadia as if to protect her. “Get out of here, Maria.  _Now._ " She looks at the pledges. "Dismissed."

Alina forgets to move away, then, forgets everything but this side to a mean girl that’s… not what she’s expecting. 

Zoya catches her looking, before winking and tossing her the gun. Alina fumbles to catch it.

"Look, Butterfingers, if you can’t even hold onto that, I can’t imagine that you’d have been able to hit Maria." She tosses her hair a bit. "You can thank me for saving you the embarrassment now."


	11. But Then It Stopped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> layover au + Nikolina

Alina sighs loudly, crossing her arms over her chest as she slumps further in her uncomfortable plastic seat. The layover from Kerch back to Ravka was only meant to be an hour long - not bad once you take into account all that you must do. An hour goes by fast.

But then the snow hit.

The hour grew into four.

Even this isn’t the reason why she is growing more agitated, her teeth grinding against one another.

No, it’s because of a certain man in the seat next to her. “There’s plenty of time, you know.”

"I’m not getting out of my seat."

His grin grows wider, more bold. “A public audience? Alina, I had no idea.”

"I’m not jacking you off in the airport bathroom, Nikolai," she growls. 

A woman next to her squeaks like a kettle as she claps her hands over her son’s ears.

Nikolai laughs, his hand on Alina’s thigh. 

Alina punches him for the effort, ears burning.


	12. The Stars, The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stars + Ivan/Zoya

He’s handsome, Zoya decides. Handsome enough to waste her time on, at least, even though she’s known Ivan since she was younger. His face is etched in a permanent scowl as she sidles up next to him, and she can’t help the smirk that grows on her face as his grows darker.

"What do you want?" he barks at her, but she does nothing but flutter her eyelashes at him, smiling demurely now.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she tilts her head so that she can see the stars above them. “They’re beautiful tonight.” It isn’t a lie. She loves the war camps at night, even if she gripes about them. She loves sleeping beneath the stars.

Part of his lip curls in a snarl, his eyebrows so furrowed, they look like they might eat his eyes. “What.”

"The stars, they’re beautiful." She glances back at him, leans in close, and whispers, "Just like me."

She gets the exact reaction she’s waiting for, the vague look of surprise and confusion as he pulls away from her. She drops a wink before sashaying back to the group of Squallers who had bet she couldn’t get Ivan to change his expression.


	13. I Tried To Find The Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> car crash + Nikolina

Alina doesn’t get it. She’s curled up in a chair near the fire, one leg tucked under her and she watches her husband and their daughter on the floor, rug rolled up and pushed to the side so that the great Nikolai Lantsov can show off his newest project. Mobile carriages, he calls them.

He twists the key on the top of these sleek carriages. “There’s a small motor in it that David helped me to design,” he explains. 

She’s not sure if it’s for her benefit or to hear the sound of his own voice (although she suspects the latter because while Nika is smart for her age, she’s not sure a 5 year old quite grasps the odd study of Grisha mechanics yet).

Nika frowns with her usual expression of concentration, chubby fingers twisting the key in her own “car”. 

"And it makes the toys run?" Alina asks after a moment, catching Nikolai’s gaze on her face, as if he’s waiting for her to be interested.

"Precisely." He gives her a bright, beautiful smile. A rare one that makes her remember why she’s still even here.

He’s still talking when Nika lets her car go with a laugh, watching it careen straight into Nikolai’s hand and car. He pulls back his hand with a loud swear while she laughs still.

Alina bites her lip. “Perhaps you need to redesign them for less power.”


	14. A Kiss With A Fist Is Better Than None

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first Alina thought Nikolai had covered the ceiling in green tinsel (to match the gaudy lights and oversized socks he had displayed everywhere else in the palace) it was only upon closer inspection she realized their bedroom ceiling had every inch of space covered with mistletoe.

Alina groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and rubbing her temples. Maybe, just maybe, when she opened them again, they’d be gone. Maybe she could set fire to the ceiling and be rid of them instead.

She cracked one eye open, then another. Nikolai stood in front of her with the most charming grin she had ever seen him give. Her scowl deepened. 

"What." She took a deep breath. "How."

"Come now, Alina, I know you have words to use."

"If you wanted someone with words, you should have married Zoya," she growled at him before rolling her eyes. 

There she stood, in the middle of the doorway, refusing to budge. There was no way, for anything on this earth, that she would step into the room until he removed these eyesores. 

"You’re out of control, Nikolai."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, ignoring the stiff way she held herself as he tugged her closer. “I’m getting into the spirit.”

"You’ll  _be_  a spirit.”

"One kiss," he bargained, unfazed by her irritation. "And I’ll personally climb up there to pull each plant down."

Her lips pursed. “Any sort of kiss?”

"Whatever your heart desires, of course." His finger tapped gently at the tip of her nose.

So Alina punched him in the jaw.


	15. There's A Ghost In My Lungs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I just want this." - Nikolina

Nikolai has been drumming his fingers against the table for the last five minutes, and each tap is beating into Alina’s head uncomfortably. Finally, she leans forward, placing her hand over his. His fingers still.

"You’re driving me crazy," she tells him, and he sighs.

"It’s just a lot to take in."

She starts to lean back in her chair, moving her hand away from his. He snaps out, scarred fingers wrapping around her wrist and holding onto her tightly. Alina has to resist the urge to pull her hand away, to get rid of the contact. 

"It was his choice," she tells him gently. "Mal… Mal needs time to heal and think."

Mal is gone. Gone, gone, gone. And she can’t blame him, can’t even find a little bit of anger to burn in her chest at him leaving her. This is something he has to do for himself. His blood was on her hands, he was dead.  _He was dead_. 

"What about you?" Nikolai asks her. Will she stay, is what he means. Will she train the Grisha? Will she move into the Little Palace again?

But what good is a Sun Summoner that doesn’t summon? And she’s tried. Saints, she’s tried, and it’s just not there anymore. 

Alina pauses before giving a swift shake of her head. Her hair is still red, and the color catches in the corner of her eyes, startling her still. She isn’t used to it. “There’s no place for me here.”

His thumb rubs gentle circles over the pulse in her wrist, and something about the touch makes her heart ache. Of course he’s not going to reject her. Who else will ever understand the darkness inside of him? 

"There could be. Nobody would have to know who you are outside of these walls," Nikolai tells her. 

She doesn’t want to leave, she realizes. She doesn’t want to have to face the world alone with no name. She is nothing, but Nikolai… He’s offering her a chance to change that for now.

"Give it a try, Alina. I won’t make you stay if you don’t want to."

"Are you asking me to wear the emerald again?"

He flashes her that typical Nikolai smile, lifting her hand to his lips for a brief kiss. “For now? This is all I want from you. For us to not be alone.”


	16. And When You Kiss Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can I kiss you?" - Nikoloya

With a huff, Zoya drags the King of Ravka off to a secluded corner. For the first time, she doesn’t care what people think of her in this moment. She doesn’t care what rumors some lady is going to whisper behind her hands as she watches them leave the ball.

Maybe the rumors will help. Maybe they will give people something to talk about except for the dark, moody  _Korol Rezni_. 

"What are you doing?" he snaps as she shoves him into what is essentially a broom closet.

With a scowl, she turns on him, shoving her hand into his shoulder. “What are  _you_  doing, Nikolai? That man out there is not the charming  _tsar_  they are all expecting you to be.”

The incident that has triggered this, of course, was Nikolai walking away from a conversation with a highly influential delegate from Fjerda. Their relations aren’t what they need to be, not in their current state. A civil war has just ravaged their country, and here is the very man that should be slowly patching them all back together, and he’s showing his ass.

In fact, he could have done that quite literally, and it would have gone over better.

He’s fuming. She can see the darkness rolling over his face, and she should be terrified. Maybe a piece of her is. But she is also Zoya Nazyalenski. She doesn’t run from a fight or from her fear. She’s battled the Darkling.

A moody king isn’t really going to make her back down now.

But she’s not soft like she imagines Alina would be with him, and maybe that’s what he needs. Someone who understands that darkness, because she sure as saints can’t.

Cupping his face, she holds him still, forcing him to look at her. “You’re letting it get the best of you, and I have never thought you were cowardly enough to not fight against it.”

"Watch what you’re saying, Zoya," he growls.

"If you want to live in the dark, then fine. That’s on you. Step down from the throne. Step down and let someone who fights for the light be the one to help Ravka now."

His brow furrows, but she doesn’t let him go. This is important. This night is important, for all of them. If she has to steal it out from under him, she will.

Maybe Nikolai recognizes that, because the tension leaks out of him slowly until he’s all but putty in her hands. “I won’t step down.”

"Good. I haven’t even found a proper coronation dress yet." She tosses her dark curls over her shoulder after she lets him go. 

A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “Do I get a kiss for this?”

That’s not a surprising request. She busies herself with straightening his clothes out, to make him presentable and not because she does like touching him. “If you make this night a success, you can have much more than that.”


	17. Just Don't Lie To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you drunk?" - Baghra and the Darkling

The shadows leak off of his body as much as water would if he had been dunked in the river. They stream from his skin like droplets, rolling into the ground and splashing out in every direction. 

Something that vaguely resembles fear snaps to life in Baghra’s chest as her son swaggers around the small room they have been staying in the past few nights, the door still wide open from where he’s forgotten to shut it again.

It is fear, and it also a blinding-white rage that nearly chokes her. She has taught him better than this. She has  _shown him_  better than this. It isn’t fair that they must hide, but it is the way it has to be for now. And here he is,  _here he is_.

He doesn’t see her coming, her little Aleksander. Not so little anymore. She would like to say, not as smart, but he has never been so wise in his life. She is shorter than him, but Baghra still manages to lift him up by his shirt so that his toes scrape the wooden floor, his shoulders pinned to the wall.

She can smell the stink of alcohol on his breath, the hazy way it clouds his slate eyes as he stares down at her. “Are you drunk, boy?”

"What of it?"

He doesn’t struggle though, her Aleksander. His shadows bleed over her hands, and it frightens her. This could be his actual blood, this could be his life draining over her skin instead of his power, and what then?

What is she without her son, then?

"You  _fool_.” She slams him against the wall. “You can’t even control yourself! What if you had been seen?”

He bares his teeth at her. “What if I had been? What you and I are, we shouldn’t have to hide it. We should be embraced. We should be celebrated!”

His words slur, but the passion he feels doesn’t.

He’s right, and he’s wrong. 

"Not at the cost of your  _life_.”

The fire doesn’t die within him, but even drunk, he seems to know how to subdue it for the time being.

"I wanted to have fun."

"We do not have fun, Aleksander. We cannot afford such things. You want to change the world? You cannot do it in a haze." Baghra slowly lowers him to the floor, and he crumples back against the wall to hold him aloft. "You cannot do it if you’re dead."

The boy does not drink again for a very long time.


	18. It Sighs In My Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Come home with me." - Nikolina

Months ago, Alina would have laughed at the idea that she would be getting along with Mal’s roommate. The untouchable and great Nikolai Lantsov. Rich Boy Extraordinaire. Student Council President.

Yet here they are, cozying up in a back corner library table, pouring over their notes for Professor Morozova’s final exam. Talking. Laughing. 

His knee brushes against hers, and she wonders if it’s an accident or a carefully planned mistake. Nikolai’s good at that last one, on knowing how to spin something in his favor. It doesn’t necessarily make him a bad person, but she’s wary. Wary and also thinking about how his knee is against hers completely now.

She glares at her notes, but the words all jumble together now.

"Did they do something to offend you?" Nikolai laughs, and she turns that glare on him. 

"We’ve been at this for hours. My eyes are starting to cross," she tells him.

She could move her knee away, if she doesn’t like it. She doesn’t.

"You don’t have much to worry about, Alina," he tells her in a teasing voice. "You just scowl in the direction of our dear, dark professor, and he swoons."

Alina turns that particular scowl on Nikolai, but it must has lost his effect by now. Because he’s laughing, because is hazel eyes are sparkling with mischief, because he seems to be the one who’s swooning.

Men are strange, she decides. If this damn Psychology class has taught her anything, it’s that.

"You could always buy your way out," Alina says.

"He wants you, not money." This time, he sounds a bit more sober as he says it, and she gives him a curious glance.

"This is a stupid conversation." She slams her notebook shut. "I don’t want to talk about him or this final."

His eyebrows rise up slowly on his forehead. “But you do want to talk to me?”

Yes. “No.” Maybe. She isn’t really sure anymore. “I don’t want to talk at all right now.”

"A study break sounds magnificent, in that case." He shuts his own books, stretching his arms above his head. "How about we go out for dinner?"

"Didn’t I just say I didn’t want to talk?"

"Eating isn’t talking."

"You’re talking right now."

He’s finally quiet for a second, studying her with the same intensity as his notes earlier. She’s caught off guard when he leans in, his mouth on the shell of her ear.

"Come home with me. No talking, I promise."

A wave of heat washes over her at the idea. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Nikolai.” A beat. “Besides, Mal’s there.”

"Your place, then?"

She shakes her head. “Genya.”

He gives a grand sigh, loud enough to make her roll her eyes. “Eating it is, then. And  _talking_.”


	19. I'm Not Calling You A Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you drunk?" - Genya/Ivan

Genya doesn’t find Ivan so much as stumble over his prone body, the toes of her delicately made slippers tripping over his solid side. She doesn’t tend to look at the ground anymore, and she doesn’t expect a soldier being drawn closer to the Darkling’s personal army to be in the middle of a mostly-deserted hallway.

And that leads her here, listening to his grunt when she kicks him - by accident, of course - and nearly toppling over him. She catches herself before she can call this a complete embarrassment, but now his hand is hot at her ankle, thick fingers wrapped around the bone. 

She gives a snort of disgust. “What are you doing?”

"Thinking." His voice slurs just barely, but she’s heard enough of this from the king to know when a man is drunk. 

Heat flares to her face, and she thinks about kicking him on purpose this time.

"Are you drunk?" There’s more disgust in her voice than she intended for there to be. Having a drink or two, she finds no faults in that. But a man is clumsy when he’s intoxicated, and she thinks of the pale sausages that had been pawing her not too long ago.

She thinks she might throw up.

"You’re beautiful," is what he tells her, and that all but answers her question. Ivan has never been one to care too much about a girl’s looks, or hers, at least.

She wrinkles her nose and tosses red curls over her shoulder. They’re mussed, unkempt, but she doesn’t care. She can make anything look good. “Tell me something that I don’t know.”

"You shouldn’t have to sell yourself to the king with a power like yours."

She’s quiet. And then: “Already knew that, as well. Now let go of me.”

He lingers for a moment, but she doesn’t find it to be in that lecherous sort of way men do. It’s more like he’s confused, his brows scrunched together - he could really use a plucking. But then he lets her go, and she should leave him to his drunken state. She really should.

Genya can’t. “Ivan, you need to get up.”

"I’m fine here," he growls.

She leans down and pats his chest. “And what if someone were to find you and tell the Darkling?”

That seems to sober him up, in a way. With her help, he manages to sit up, groaning and holding his head.

"Are you threatening me, servant?"

A flicker of a smile tugs at her lips. “I’m threatening to help you out. You need to sleep it off. Maybe get a glass of water.”

He eyes her for a second. “I don’t do sloppy seconds.”

"Oh, honey, that was never on the table." 

Ivan leans heavily on Genya as she shuffles her way back to her room, where nobody will see him. They don’t talk about why he was drunk. Actually, they don’t talk at all, which is nice. Listening to him is grating on her nerves. 

But she makes sure he drinks at least two glasses of water before making him comfortable in her bed.


	20. I'm Not Calling You A Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have you ever wanted to hate someone?" - Nikoloya

"Have you ever wanted to hate someone?"

The question takes Zoya by surprise. Because it comes from Nikolai. Because he’s asking  _her_ , which is both strange and yet makes sense. They are close now, two powers that have to work together. It’s more than that too, she has been realizing the past few months.

They are friends.

Friends ask each other strangely deep questions out of the blue, when the current task at hand has been her getting the king to approve her plans for expansion on the Little Palace.

"I wanted to hate Alina," she answers carefully, narrowing her eyes at him. "I think I might have told myself I did hate her, but that doesn’t seem like the right feeling."

"You were jealous," Nikolai points out.

Her lip curls up in a look of distaste. She leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. They’re covered by her  _kefta,_  of course, but that doesn’t stop the momentary flicker of Nikolai’s gaze at the movement. Intrigued rather than leering. She can handle that. “If that’s what one wants to call it.”

"I think this one does."

She rolls her eyes, but… yes. Jealousy played a part in it, and that’s maybe why she knows it can’t have been hatred. She wasn’t  _that_  into the Darkling. She was into power.  _Is_  into power, and there’s nothing wrong with that or a little bit of ambition. Alina had been a roadblock she didn’t know how to deal with, but that’s a thing of the past.

And that’s not really the question at hand here, she scolds herself gently. She watches Nikolai for a moment, sees the slight tremor in his gloved hands, the vacant stare in his eyes now. No longer focused on her, but whatever darkness is still out there waiting for him. 

She could touch him, she supposes. Rest her hand over his and squeeze lightly, to let him know that he’s not alone. But that’s not what he needs, she thinks. He doesn’t need coddling and comfort - well, that last part, sure. Everyone needs comfort.

Right now, he needs for someone to see through him.

But why her?

"Do you want to hate yourself, Nikolai Lantsov? That seems pointless."

He raises his eyebrows at her, the light slowly creeping back into his eyes. “Pointless?” He gives a hollow laugh.

"You heard me. Whatever you did, it was not by a conscious choice on your part. What the Darkling did, however? He knew full well what he was doing, and he knew how it would  _hurt_  people. That’s not you.” Zoya pauses, pressing her lips together. “I’m no good at this, but I think I’ve got a bit of a handle on how to judge someone now.”

"You were taken in by the Darkling."

"I said  _now._  And so many people were taken in by him. He was charming, handsome,  _powerful.”_

"I’m those things," Nikolai points out.

She gives him a strained smile. “Yes. But you care about people, Nikolai. If you didn’t care about us, or the people, or Ravka, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be the king. We wouldn’t be having this conversation. You were a monster, but you didn’t ask to be one.”

He’s quiet for a moment, never once breaking his gaze from hers, and she feels a swell of pride at that. Because he’s listening to her. Because she thinks maybe she’s not so bad at that whole comforting thing. Because she knows there’s a monster in all of them, the kind who will throw a girl and break her ribs for doing nothing but existing. 

"Thank you, Zoya."

"Thank me by taking me to dinner."

At that, he chokes on a laugh. “Always the opportunist.”

"You have to admit, I’d look very good in a crown."


	21. Just Don't Steal From Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please don't argue." - Alarkling

His hand grips her arm by the elbow, fingers digging in tight, rough. He jerks her back, and Alina bares her teeth at him for a brief second in her flash of anger. The fight doesn’t sag out of her; she bites it back and swallows it down, where it festers with the rest of her anger. The bared teeth become more of a surprised smile as she forces the muscles in her lips to quirk upward.

"I need some air," she tells him.

"You’re trying to escape."

The corner of her eye twitches. Swallow it, she tells herself. All that pain, the anger, the hate. His hold on her is so tight, her elbow aches up to her shoulder. 

"No, Darkling," she murmurs, stepping in closer to him. To relieve the pressure on her arm. To appease him. 

His body remains stiff, eyes like steel as he regards her. Grisha steel, at that. 

She shouldn’t have disagreed with him in front of the others. But she isn’t a meek slave, she isn’t  _his to own_. 

_But you are_ , a dark part of her whispers. She had given herself to him in order to spare Mal’s life, and somewhere, Mal lived while she plotted. That was enough for Alina. She was the perfect bride (mostly), a great queen (when she didn’t go against him). 

With a sigh, the Dakling lets go of her arm, and it drops heavily to her side. Her hand comes to rest on his chest, and she chokes back on the bile. “I need some air.”

"I told you not to argue with me. Does his life mean nothing to you?"

She almost snaps, but she manages to hold the broken pieces of herself together. “What fun is it to have a partner who is nothing but your puppet? How do you ever expect me to be what you want when you cage me?”

He regards her in stony silence before a cool finger traces the line of her jaw, scrapes over her cheekbone. “Because you haven’t given yourself over to me yet, Alina. You will, though.”

The worst part is, she knows he’s right. And that scares the hell out of her.


	22. I'm Gonna Let You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm flirting with you." - Nikolina

Alina has, she realizes, never actually flirted with anyone. Or she’s never realized that she’s done it before, and if she hasn’t, she isn’t sure if they have either. Was what she did with the Darkling flirting or being drawn in by his gravity? He had all of the power, and she had all of the willingness.

And Mal…

Mal is honesty, straight and sweet and needy.

But Nikolai is neither Mal nor the Darkling, and she has no idea how to approach a man who approaches the idea of them spreading rumors of their upcoming marriage as good fun and the right idea to do.

Marry the sun to the king. 

It’s more than that, she thinks. She likes him. Not deeply, like Mal. Not desperately, like the Darkling. She just likes him, and that’s strange. New. Unfamiliar. 

Would she be okay marrying him?

The small mirrors in her glove move as she watches him from across the lake, talking to David with boyish animation. For a brief second, she can see the real Nikolai in his grand movements, in the light in his eyes. Light bounces off the reflective surfaces in her hand, soft, splaying across his face. David squints, but she can see the smile curl at Nikolai’s mouth even from here. 

The light is there briefly before she moves her hand away and continues to busy herself with the conversation she’s currently holding with Sergei. Something about security detail. Next to her, Tolya is torn between amusement and a scowl. What she’s talking about is important, but what she’s doing - well, that’s entertaining.

After a few seconds, the light flashes across his face again in short, rapid cycles.

She plays the game until Sergei stomps off with a disgusted noise, and she swallows down the giggle that threatens to burn her alive. Tolya simply shakes his head.

"This isn’t fun and games."

"If not now, when will I ever be able to have fun and games?"

A spot of light splays across her arm, and when she turns her head, she can see that Nikolai is using a mirror of his own and the lake to reflect the actual sun at her. There’s a warmth that erupts inside of her.

"He’s not a game," Tolya tells her gently, and she realizes that it’s a reprimand.

"It’s just flirting."

But he doesn’t say anything more when the light meant for her blinds him instead.


	23. To Fall At Your Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 63!Darkling (Aleksandra)/Alina + craving

There’s something about the Darkling that seems as lonely to Alina now as she first had that night they spent in the cabin, when she had asked the Darkling how old she was. Her face is drawn, the smallest of frowns tugging at her lips as she regards Alina.

“Haven’t you ever wanted more?” she asks, and Alina finds herself nodding before she can stop herself.

“I think everyone has at one point,” Alina tells her.

The frown flips into the smallest of smiles, and she can’t help but trace the lines of it. The Darkling really is quite beautiful, beyond even Grisha standards. She is powerful and tempered like steel, and yet Alina feels this softness around her, as if she’s only letting Alina in. Bit by bit.

A stupid thought, but one she clings to.

Nobody has ever been fascinated with Alina the way the Darkling is.

“That’s not what I asked, Alina.” And she pitches her voice just right so that it straddles the line between chiding and amusement. The Darkling inclines her head to indicate that she should follow, and she does.

They follow the trail around the lake, Alina’s fingers playing the rays of sunlight bouncing off from the clear water. The Darkling watches with the intensity of a hawk watching her prey, and Alina wonders where the nervous fear about being the prey is.

“Does what I want matter? You’ve brought me here to be a savior,” Alina points out. “I have no idea what that is. I make maps.”

“Yes, I’ve seen your work,” the Darkling laughs, and it’s as clear as the lake.

Alina leans in, wanting more of it. She wants less of the darkness that this woman who bears a title as heavy as hers and more of the light that she has seen beneath the surface. Maybe that’s just a Sun Summoner sort of thing, to crave the light.

To crave the Darkling.

She presses her lips together. “And?”

“You are much better at summoning suns.”

Her nose wrinkles, and the Darkling laughs again. “I’m not very good at doing that.”

“Yes, but you’re better at it than maps. There’s no future in maps, Alina Starkov.” The Darkling stops and turns to face Alina. The light is gone, buried in her stone gray eyes, and that heaviness is back. But still, there’s a curl to her lips when she speaks. “There is one with me, however.”

Alina thinks that she can’t possibly mean what she wants it to mean.


	24. I Am Happy Enough To Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genya/Zoya + infection

Zoya grips Genya by the chin, tilting her head so that she can look at the scarring over her eye. It’s still a little puckered, a little red, dark lines streaking through the skin like the skin is rotting away. It’s the Darkling’s infection, of course, coursing through Genya’s veins for deciding to turn against him. She bites back on the idea that she could have defied him much earlier and kept her pretty eye for the experience, too.

She doesn’t. Even Zoya knows when to quit before she opens her mouth.

Her fingers run over the skin gently, but Genya still jumps back, smacking her hand away. “Don’t touch it.”

“I was checking to see if it was hot.”

“I think I could tell you that without you touching it.”

“Don’t be a baby, Genya,” Zoya snaps, and Genya sneers.

Why she volunteered to even check on her is beyond Zoya. She could have just let David keep playing nursemaid, now that Genya was _so fragile_ , that she needed those strong arms to keep her up. Her lip curls up a bit.

“What’s that face for, darling? Trying to match the monster inside of you?” Genya bites, and Zoya throws her head back, laughing.

“Have you looked at yourself lately? Maybe I’m just trying to look like you.”

And it could be an insult. It probably is an insult, but it doesn’t come out like one. And the look Genya is giving her out of her one good eye says that she doesn’t take it like one, either. Zoya can’t say that she has always admired the Tailor. In fact, she’s pretty sure she’s always thought her pathetic and useless and a whore. She’s always been jealous of the perfect complexion, too, and the red curls that looked so much more vibrant than her own hair.

That was, of course, years ago. 

The jealousy, at the very least.

Now she looks at Genya and sees a broken doll ruined by her master.

Now she looks at Genya and sees herself in so many ways.

“I’m afraid you couldn’t pull off the one eye aesthetic,” Genya mutters.

Her lips purse as she fits the patch back over the other woman’s scarred face, taking care to only brush the smooth parts of her face. “I’ll leave it all to you. You’ve earned it.”

“I don’t know if I like this version of you, Zoya. My eye seems to be playing tricks on me.”

“Oh, it’s not like anyone is going to believe you.” Which is probably exactly why she leans in and kisses Genya’s scarred cheek. Nobody’s going to believe her. “Look, you keep sitting here, moping around like Alina, and you’re going to let the Darkling win. He’s an infection, Genya, so you better fight it.”

Genya sits back, looking bewildered for a moment. “I’m trying--”

“You’re moping,” Zoya sneers. “Genya Safin doesn’t mope, so get on board with that already.”


	25. Kill Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolai/Zoay

Zoya doesn’t agree to go out with Nikolai so much as she just shows up at the bar about two hours after the time he says he’ll be there. It’s not a date, and she’s not going to let him think it is. But that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t take care to make sure her makeup is the best it can be, that her hair shines like the stars and falls in soft waves over her bare shoulders, or that her dress is the perfect length between “here are the goods” and “you’ll never actually know if I’m wearing underwear”. It’s not a date, but she can still make a man want to work for one.

Besides, who the hell even goes to a _bar_ for a date?

He’s shooting pool in the back, laughing with some other drunk frat boys, and she leans in the doorway. Watching him. He’s undeniably handsome, but it’s the confidence that really pulls her in. 

One of his buddies elbows him in the ribs, and he jumps, misses his shot. His mouth tugs into a frown, and before said buddy can give her away, she laughs and gives herself away instead.

“You would have missed it anyway,” Zoya tells him, sauntering over. She takes his pool stick and his drink, hip checking him. 

“Well, it looks like the great Zoya has come to teach us how to play,” Nikolai laughs. It’s a joke, but she can see the actual mirth in his hazel eyes. His hand drifts over her waist for a brief second as he steps aside.

She downs the drink, slams the glass, and sets herself up. “Watch and learn.”

They watch. She doubts they learn, because most of them are drunk off their asses. Which is just fine with her, because it makes it easier to start betting with money, and she cleans the table.

Nikolai orders her drinks for her.

She’s lining herself up, the cue ball in a diagonal line from the 8-ball. “Right corner pocket,” she announces. For the win, of course. Another win, another hundred bucks in her pocket. This is so much better than a date.

“You win, and I’ll let you take me out to eat after this,” Nikolai murmurs in her ear. He smells like whiskey and the sea this close up, and it’s distracting.

“What a terrible fate for me, Lantsov. What do I get out of it?”

One of the drunk idiots actually giggles - _giggles_ \- as he elbows his buddy playing her. “Who cares what you’ll win. You’re going to be handling his balls as well as you handle these by the end of the night.”

Zoya sees red, her lips pulling over her teeth in a wolfish kind of grin, but they’re too stupid to see it. “You think so?” she purrs.

“You can handle ours too, sweetheart, I’m sure Nicky won’t mind. I like sloppy seconds,” the asshole playing against her says. He leers.

Nikolai doesn’t say anything, but she hears the faint sigh he gives. 

Zoya draws her arm back, pointing the tip of her cue stick at the table instead of the ball. When it cracks, it sends the large white ball flying - right into the face of the drunk piece of shit who made the ball comments. It smacks him with a loud crack, and she’s satisfied to see blood. Before the other guy can react properly, she breaks the stick over his head too.

It’s maybe ten minutes later before Nikolai can actually drag her out of the frenzied bar, fists still flying at anyone who dares to hit her. 

“No more bars for you,” he chides. There’s amusement on his face, but pride in his voice. She knows he didn’t step in because she could handle it herself, and maybe it’s the alcohol, but it gives her a fuzzy kind of feeling.

“I didn’t win,” she points out.

“I’ll pay for the food, then.”


	26. Lie Awake In Bed At Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolai/Zoya, things said with no space between us

Zoya rests on top of him, her chest pressed against his, chin resting on his shoulder. He smells of sweat and sex and herself, scarred fingers roaming over the expanse of her bare back. Her skin jumps at the feel of them, unused to it. To him taking his gloves off. To him in general.

She sucks in a breath and lets out a sigh of contentment. “Been awhile for you, has it?”

“I’m sure you’ve had just as long of a dry spell,” he murmurs into her ear, lips caressing the outer shell. He keeps going like this, and they’ll be on to round…

Well, Zoya’s lost count at how many times they’ve rolled around. Her limbs are limp, a pleasant and exhausting ache spreading through her entire body.

“Are you keeping tabs on my spells?”

He wraps her up in his arms and holds her tightly to himself. “Always. How else would I have been able to tumble you?”

She’s too tired to even slap him around with a breeze, but it’s probably the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to her, so she’ll let him get away with it.


	27. Do You Think About Your Life?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alarkling (I lost the prompt :()

She doesn’t make for a pretty pet, Alina Starkov. That is what sweaty duchesses say behind their hands with a weak laugh to follow it up, worried that the person they are talking to is a strict loyalist, that they believe in their new king and queen and will be willing to rat her out. 

Sweaty duchesses are not wrong.

The new queen of Ravka is striking as a Grisha rightly will be, but she is sallow, her mouth tugged in a permanent frown, malice shining in her dark eyes as the suns that fit so neatly in her curved palms. Her tongue is sharp, and she hunches like a wild animal. 

The Sun Summoner is not their hero, but she is the pet of the Darkling, and so people accept their queen for what she is: a pawn.

The Darkling’s fingers tuck in under her chin, raising her head so that her gaze meets his. His eyes are cool, smile like granite. “Alina, we are having a party.”

“And I showed up. You didn’t say I had to do more than that.”

His smile grows edges sharper than Grisha steel, and she’s delighted to note that when he speaks, it’s with a clenched jaw and gritted teeth. “It was implied.”

He owns her, but he can’t break her.

That’s enough for the pet.


	28. Do You Want To Be Different?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolina (with another lost prompt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have seriously not been keeping up with this updating thing

Alina thinks him asleep, which is why she thinks it’s safe to whisper to him, her lips on the outer shell of his ear. His breathing is deep, and for once, he seems to be in an easy sleep. 

For them, sleep is impossible. They move restlessly, wake constantly, rarely fall asleep early. Tonight, though, she thinks it’s safe. Tonight, his cheek is on her shoulder as one arm stretches across her waist and she holds him tightly.

Tonight, he sleeps and she doesn’t, and maybe that’s why she does it. Because he’s vulnerable and she’s too tired to keep her walls up, and besides all of that, he is asleep.

“I love you.”

The words are so soft, even she has trouble believing she’s said them out loud. But there they are, cast out into the world in the middle of the night, and even though she knows he doesn’t hear it, she feels better all the same.

It’s been said, and that’s all that matters to her.

Her fingers brush through his sweat-damp hair, holding him closer to herself. Her eyes close, a pleased smile on her lips at all of her good work. She wavers on the edge of sleep herself when:

“I know.” Nikolai presses a soft kiss to her bare shoulder.


	29. Try To Let Go Of The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolina, modern college au, things you said when you were drunk

She’s breathing in his carpet before she knows it, and of course it’s the softer than even her own bed. Who allowed him to be so rich? Comes the first drunk thought. His parents, of course. His parents allow him to have carpet softer than most beds, and that’s decidedly unfair.

Alina closes her eyes and tries to not think anymore. The world is spinning, or she’s spinning, but she isn’t really sure that she can spin while lying down.

She drank too much. She knows that. Isn’t that part of the college experience? Get crazy drunk at a bar and come home with the sexy rich boy who has taken a strange interest in you?

There’s a laugh in her ear, rich and vibrant. It hits her in the gut and travels lower, settling with a heat she doesn’t want to think about. It’s the alcohol, which makes no sense. 

A warmth spreads across her back, against her bare skin where her shirt has probably ridden up. It’s a hand, her brain fires at her a second too late. A hand on her bare skin, rough fingers digging into her skin gently. Soothing. She’s never noticed how rough his hands were before. Not rough, calloused. He works with his hands, something she doesn’t expect from rich boys.

“Did you just call me sexy?” Nikolai asks with another laugh as he curls around her body.

Alina’s eyes snap open as she stares into the rich beige carpet. “What.”


	30. The Battles Of Your Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alarkling (lost prompt)

Years blur together until they’re all one chunk, one entity of something. Things die and are reborn; not Alina and Aleksander. They remain. He does not die, he does not rise from the ashes. What he is is eternal.

But Alina? She ebbs away like glass in the sea, like a rock in the river. She dies constantly. She is reborn constantly. He has had maybe a millennia to be who he is.

She reinvents every half century, uncomfortable with the skin she wears. With who she is.

Sometimes she runs.

He chases, always chases, in the beginning. He tears the world up for her, and they are the cause of more wars than they are of stability and peace. She laughs like the wild animal that she feels like, all teeth and feral.

And then he stops chasing, a few centuries in. 

The first time, she doesn’t come back to him for nearly another hundred years.

The second time, she barely lasts a month.

He waits for her in the crumbling ruins of Os Alta and holds his hand out to her. She doesn’t hesitate to slide hers into his, lacing their fingers together because it’s right. And whatever they are, it’s unnatural but a whole.

“Light cannot exist without the dark,” he tells her.

She looks beyond him, past his shoulder to a life that doesn’t exist anymore and takes a deep breath. Her words are too soft, almost lost in the wind, but he must feel it in the part of his soul that belongs to her. “I won’t run again.”


	31. Cause This Is Just A Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malina, sick

“Well, this is different.”

Alina sits on the edge of Mal’s bed while he stares back at her with her red, puffy eyes. He opens his mouth, probably to shoot something back at her, but the moment he drags in even the lightest of breaths, he starts to cough again. It’s the kind of sound where it sounds like it’s reached down into his lungs and is trying to pull them out. She doesn’t even think that Zoya could do that kind of damage.

Her mouth is etched into a frown now, her hand lightly rubbing his back when he rolls over to cough into their mattress.

When he’s finally done, he continues to lean forehead until his forehead is pressed into her thigh. Even through her skirt, she can feel how hot he is. Worry prickles at her.

She had been sick for her whole life, but that had always been because she was repressing her power. Even now, when she has lost that part of herself, her body seems to have corrected that particular unwanted issue.

Mal, on the other hand, had never been sick a day in his life. A picture of perfect health. Until now, at least. He sucks in a ragged breath that thankfully does not trigger another fit. “You should be watching over the children,” is what he finally manages to say to her.

Her fingers thread through his damp hair, stroking it softly, soothing. “The others are taking care of them, and I must make sure my dear husband is properly cared for.”

He groans. “I’m fine.”

“Let me take care of you,” she whispers. “I even brought soup.”

Mal’s quiet as he finally rolls onto his back again, staring up at her. “Did you make it?”

She glares at him. “Would you refuse to eat it if I had?”

“No.” His rough fingers move over her hand, squeezing weakly. “But it might be the thing that kills me in this state.”

This time, Alina snorts. “I did not make the soup, but if it’s okay with you, I’d like to feed it to you.”

She wonders if he’ll protest. He’s a big, strong man. He doesn’t need to be spoonfed. But even in his feverish state, his blue eyes light up.

“I’ve had fantasies about this,” he tells her instead, scooting himself up so that his back is leaning against the wall.

Alina rolls her eyes. “Of being fed by me?”

“I was less sick,” he points out.


	32. It's A Beautiful Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolai/Zoya, "I swear it was an accident." Light mentions of sex.

“Are you serious?”

One thing that Nikolai has noticed about Zoya is that when she is angry, her voice does not go shrill like some of the other women he’s been with. It goes low, throaty. Throatier, in this particular case.

Which is definitely something that should have been making him at least _twitch_. His breath ghosts over her neck as she hisses, her fingers digging into his hips and pushing him back. She’s not even looking at him, but staring down with an incredulous face, lips puckered with angry lines, eyes narrowed.

When Zoya finally does bring her gaze back up to him, she’s half irritation, half amusement.

Nikolai finds it disturbing that he can recognize those warring emotions in her eyes when they’re in a dark closet.

And he’s drunk.

He thinks, perhaps, that he shouldn’t actually think. Thinking is why she is looking at him this way. Thinking is why they are staring and not doing anything.

“Usually when I get invited to a disgusting broom closet, that means you have a secret to tell me, or you are going to show me why I followed you in here.” Her voice drips with venom.

With a sigh, he attempts to step away from her, fingers on his zipper. He doesn’t count on the bucket behind him, finely crafted leather boot getting stuck and metal clanking on wooden floor as he stumbles into the other wall opposite of her.

“Nikolai.” She sounds exasperated and not even a bit worried.

“I’m stuck.”

“How drunk are you?”

Good question.

He squints at her through the darkness, seeing the vague shadows of her hair and her dress, the one he should have had pushed up around her hips. Instead, he is in a bucket, half-squatting, _thinking_ and soft.

“Drunk has nothing to do with this particular situation,” Nikolai grumbles, attempting to kick the bucket off of his boot. The noise fills the disappointed silence.

“You’re pathetic,” she sighs. Her shadow moves, bending down so that she can take the bucket away from him. “And you are going to get us caught if you keep making noise.”

“It was an accident!”

“Is your little problem also an accident, because I am no drunk pity fuck, Nikolai Lantsov,” Zoya mutters.

He pats the crotch of his pants with a mournful sigh. “Perhaps drunk is the problem.”

She puts her hands on his shoulders, applying pressure until his knees begin to buckle. “Good thing I don’t suffer from your dysfunction.”


	33. It's A Perfect Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alina/Zoya

Alina attempts to pull her plunging neckline up for the millionth time in the last hour, uncomfortable at the way her barely-there cleavage is exposed to the whole world. The dress is beautiful though, all soft golden silk and white lace that’s beyond her wallet. She’s used to Genya playing dress up with her, but having Zoya practically shove her into this thing?

Maybe that’s what makes her the most uncomfortable.

“If you don’t stop fidgeting with it, I might have to just rip it off,” Zoya breathes against her ear. Alina stiffens, both at being caught and at the implication of Zoya ripping _anything_ off from her.

She tries her best to not lick her lips in anticipation.

“It’s too low,” Alina hisses.

“Yes, and if you keep playing with it, you’re going to continue to draw attention to them. Unless that’s what you want?”

Alina’s hands drop to her side because that is _definitely_ not what she wants. In fact, she doesn’t particularly want to be here at all. High society and fancy dress parties are not really her thing. But for a socialite like Zoya Nazyalensky?

She casts a glance at her perfect-smile-and-poise girlfriend from the corner of her eye.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Alina grumbles under her breath, focusing her attention now on the ache of her arches in these heels rather than on her chest. It’s not a better alternative.

“I can,” Zoya laughs, her hand barely drifting over the small of Alina’s back before she accepts a glass of champagne from one of the waiters circulating around the party. “I’m very persuasive.”

“You’re really not.”

She kind of is, but Alina hates for Zoya to feel like she has anything over her. She gloats. It’s not attractive.

Zoya takes a long sip of her drink before passing it to Alina, who stares at the liquid like its poison. “You want to share my bed? You have to share the parties too.”

Alina scowls. “I’d prefer sleeping on the couch.”

“That can also be arranged.”

She wears the scowl for the rest of the night after her girlfriend breezes away from her.


	34. Such A Beautiful Lie To Believe In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malina. Mal realizes the hole that exists when Alina is gone.

It isn’t until she’s gone that he begins to notice that absence. And it isn’t as though Mal has ever been away from Alina before. He has, several times, over the course of their lives together. But he always knew, _always_ , that she would be there when he came back. That she wouldn’t be gone.

He’s never thought about her leaving him before.

He’s never thought about her being gone.

He isn’t prepared then, when the first night rolls into the first day. He isn’t prepared when he turns his head to make a quip about being near death or when he has a question about what in the world happened to them out there in the unsea. She’s not there, not at his side, and he doesn’t even know when she’ll get back.

It’s unsettling. He doesn’t realize why then, he just knows there’s something wrong about not having that pale, sickly girl at his side.

It’s by day three of an Alina-less world that he begins to understand it, that she isn’t going to come back, that everything about them has changed, that he’s lost someone he didn’t even realize he had. 

Mal sits on the end of his bed, rubbing a hand over his hair. 

By day four, he understands that he’s taking her presence for granted. That calming nature of hers, the sarcastic lilt of her voice, the roll of her eyes when someone said something she didn’t agree with. Especially at him. He misses that, deep into his soul. It clings to his heart and squeezes because who in the hell begins to miss an eye roll as deeply as he does? 

She’s gone, she’s gone, he let her go, and she’s gone. 

The thoughts coat his tongue, make his words heavy. 

What a damn joke to see her importance the moment after she’s gone.


	35. So Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolina, morning kisses

Alina hasn’t slept. She remembers closing her eyes at some point, remembers the waves of exhaustion dragging her deeper.

But she also remembers the way the mattress shook beneath her body and the way Nikolai froze up next to her, how he broke out into a cold sweat and mumbled something in his nightmares. She remembers how she didn’t know what to do to help him, except to crawl up next to him and cradle his head in her lap. Her fingers threaded through his damp hair, and his eyelids fluttered as he woke briefly enough to lock her fingers in his with a grip that ground her bones together.

And then he slept more peacefully as her back curved and her eyes burned and she kept watch.

Light trickles in through the cracks of the drapes, splashing soft yellow across the carpeting. Part of her wishes she could reach out and touch it, warm her up and give herself a little jolt of energy. Her fingers remain still, however, lids drooping. 

“Did you stay up all night?”

His voice croaks, something she’s not sure anyone else has ever heard from him before. It’s part sleep, part him remembering that he can speak again.

“I’m thinking about drugging your drink at dinner,” Alina mutters. “Then maybe we both can get a full night’s rest.”

Nikolai snorts as he sits up, his lips catching the corner of her mouth. A partial kiss, gratitude instead of passion. She closes her eyes and breathes it in anyway.

“Not a bad idea, but maybe not at dinner. People might think you’re trying to poison me, and we have had enough kings around here going that way.”

It’s her turn to snort.


	36. It's Time To Forget About The Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alarkling, surprised kiss.

“Miss Starkov.”

Alina’s eyes go wide, her heart slamming in her chest. If she were Zoya or Genya, she would be more smooth about this, more practiced. Perch herself on the edge of his desk and give him an alluring smile.

Alina is none of these things. When she turns around, she stumbles on her shaky legs and her lips tug into something more grimace than smile, let alone alluring.

“Professor Morozova.” Her voice squeaks, caught between being loud enough to warn Mal and Nikolai in the next room and being strangled by embarrassment.

His eyes quickly narrow. He’s smart, and she’s always known that, and it’s part of what intimidates her. Also the fact that she’s pretty sure he will murder them before expelling them for breaking into his office to raid his files. She does her best to not look over her shoulder.

“I don’t remember you setting up a meeting. Did you need help with something?”

She twists her fingers together as he walks past her, arm brushing hers. The door is slightly cracked open, and he has to notice that, right? There’s a deathly silence in the room.

He knows, is all she can think. He knows.

So she does the first thing she can think of after that, which is throwing herself at him, her mouth pressing hard to his. He hesitates, stiffens, before taking control. His fingers go to her chin, tipping her head back as he kisses her with a practice that seems unnatural.

But at least the focus is off of her cohorts as they slip past them, both red faced.


	37. To Wash Away What Happened Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkling/Zoya, angry kiss

It’s not often that Zoya has ever felt what she supposes she could call _threatened_. Until now, she is sure she has never had to feel that way. Even now, she can’t quite settle on the emotion coating her stomach and setting her teeth on edge.

_Sun Summoner._

It’s enough to make her want to spit.

Instead she beats the girl up, feels the sweet satisfaction of her power throwing this Alina Starkov around like a ragdoll. She knows it’s wrong, of course. She shouldn’t have used her power. She shouldn’t have attacked her. But there are few things that Zoya has never gone for in her life, and she is not about to say that taking the Sun Summoner down a peg isn’t one of them.

Which is why she keeps her chin up as the door shuts behind her and the room grows black in the edges of her vision as the Darkling walks around his desk until he’s a foot in front of her. She should be terrified, and she is. She’d have to be insane not to be, but she doesn’t let the fire die out in her gaze, she doesn’t relax her posture.

“I expected better of you,” the Darkling tells her. His voice is soft, low, icy.

She can’t hold back that shudder of fear that trickles down her spine.

“The Sun Summoner is a guest of mine.” He takes a step closer to her, and the darkness seems to tighten around them. 

“She’s a soldier, the same as the rest of us,” Zoya finally finds herself saying through clenched teeth. She holds his gaze for all of two seconds before being forced to look away. “If she can’t take me kicking her around, then she’s useless to you.”

His hand lashes out so fast, that she barely has time to react before his fingers are gripping her face tightly enough to bruise. She sucks in a sharp breath and finally lets that fear sink into her knees and weaken her legs. “I do not remember giving you that power to judge for me, Zoya.”

“You didn’t.”

She took it, because she has every right to. Doesn’t she? What is one pathetic girl who can play light tricks compared to _her?_

It’s not desire for him that makes her do it, but the fact that she has to prove that she’s the best. That she’s worth it. That he should only need her to help him.

And when he doesn’t resist as her mouth crashes into his, hot and biting and a bit desperate, she takes it as a sign to keep proving herself.

It’s the wrong move.


	38. Hide Behind An Empty Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alarkling, returned from the dead kiss ft. Lady Darkling

It is not hard, Alina thinks later on, to find a girl who looks much like the Darkling. In death, she would look no different than the others. In death, Aleksandra becomes as common as anyone else. 

Two bodies burn, but neither of them are Sankta Alina and the Darkling. It’s the last thing she can ever really offer Aleksandra, even if she knows it is wrong. Even if in the pit of her stomach, that worry gnaws at her greater than any other. And she wonders, is she the only changed by what had happened in the Fold? Did Aleksandra also lose the one thing that made her better than all of the rest?

Mal holds her hand, fingers laced together, and at night he whispers in her ear. Not sweet nothings, but reassurances.

“The Darkling is dead.” His breath brushes against her ear, her cheek, his lips pressing sweet kisses to her skin. “She is dead and we are alive.”

Aleksandra is dead, she reminds herself, anchoring down on her husband’s words. She is dead, because you burned her, because you destroyed her, and she is dead.

Years pass, and Alina begins to believe those words. The Darkling is dead. She lets herself live her life the way she wants to. She laughs more, the fix the orphanage and open it up again. Her life is filled with children and strange visitors at night and a husband she would not trade for anything in the world.

And yet still, she stares into the darkness, searching shadows for someone who is not there.

Until she is.

Aleksandra kneels before the sapling that had been planted in the charred remains of a burned stump (Alina’s failed attempt to eradicate it from her life). Her pale fingers touch gentle leaves, and Alina’s heart seizes in her chest.

If she plucks it, Alina might just kill her for good this time around.

Instead, her once-villain glances over her shoulder at her. She’s cut her hair into a short fashion. It makes her look more like a man than a woman, and still beautiful all the same. Her lips curl into a ghost of a smile.

“Alina.”

“What are you doing here?” Alina asks through gritted teeth, fingers curled into tight fists.

She stands up then, straight and tall and proud, not all like the beaten woman that Alina had hoped to be met with. There’s a hard edge in her slate eyes, though, a tightness to her mouth that had never been there before. “I came to see you.”

Of course she did. Alina knows that already. It was a dumb question to ask. “Why now?”

“It took me some time to find my way back to you.”

The words are soft, nearly hollow. And Alina knows it as surely as she knows that the sun does nothing for her now: there is no power left in the Darkling to harm anyone. No power but the one she holds over Alina herself, because even powerless, they are still tangled up in each other.

Before Alina can say a word, though, Aleksandra’s fingers are sliding under her chin, tipping her face up. “Are you not happy to see me back from the dead, Alina?”

She glares. “You should have stayed that way.”

And then she kisses this brute of a woman, her personal villain, because it is not every night that you can kiss the dead one last time.


	39. Don't Ask Too Much The Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genvan, sharp tongue.

“You look terrible.”  


Genya’s jaw tightens as she grinds her teeth together, nostrils flaring only slightly, back going stiff. That part she tries to hide, to let roll off of her so that she can look more at ease. Her back is already to him; as far as Ivan’s concerned, she doesn’t look like _anything._  And she will not begin to give him the pleasure of thinking those three words will even bother her.

Because she knows he doesn’t mean her looks. She’s always on point in that category, even as her soul feels like it’s being eaten up. 

No, it’s this irritating habit of his lately to notice things about her that are none of his business. It means he’s watching her too closely, that he’s got this idea in mind to make her…

Make her _what_  exactly? Ivan is nothing to her. She is nothing to him. So why the attention?

A grim smile paints its way onto her face before it flickers out, and she glances over her shoulder at him. One curl falls strategically into place as she does so, curving over her gaze to give her an air of mystery. His maddeningly handsome face stays as stone cold and impervious as it usually does. Not even the barest flicker of interest. For someone who watches her as much as he apparently does, he could see her as nothing more than dirt on the floor.

And the idea of that is bitter on her tongue, because he would be the only one to notice her and still not care.

“If this is your idea of how terrible, I would be interested in what your ideal of beauty is.” Genya turns her head back again, feigning perfect disinterest as she goes back to her task. Her fingers brush over different fabrics to dress Alina in. That’s what the Darkling has her doing, another bitter thought that tumbles in her mind.  


Ivan snorts behind her. He sounds impossibly closer, and she really hopes that he is so that she can do something to his face. Like make his mouth droop like the king’s when he’s one too many _kvas_. Perhaps create a pool to collect his drool.

“How our Sun Summoner must look at you with the same hatred all of us have. Now you’re no different than us to her.” He laughs, as if it’s a joke, but his words cut deep.

They’re meant to. He knows exactly what it is crawling under her skin, a division of loyalty between Alina and the Darkling. She owes both of them very different things, but owes them nonetheless. In the end, however, Alina is best served with Genya serving the Darkling. That’s what matters. That is the point. 

“If I am no different than you, then you must hate yourself as well, Ivan,” Genya spits. She finally turns, one eyebrow arched as she glances him over with a dismissive gaze. “Is that what you do at night? Stare at yourself in the mirror and cry over all of your flaws?” Her teeth are bright and sharp when she smiles. “I’m afraid I can’t fix those for you.”  


His face goes red for a moment, and he blows air out of his nose too roughly to be called calm. But he doesn’t say anything. And he doesn’t move, hovering over her as if he thinks he’ll be able to intimidate her.

He should know better. 

“Alina will come around,” is what tumbles from her lips next.   


“What makes you so certain she could ever forgive you?”  


She straightens herself out when she finds herself wavering in his direction, towards him, as if he’s going to comfort her. What a joke. Genya sidesteps him, her shoulder brushing against his. “Because I made you look twice, and when have you ever cared?.”


	40. Everyone's Looking At Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolai/Zoya, let me see your scars.

He stands in front of her, almost too close for her to be entirely comfortable with. A span of a couple feet is usually her preference, unless they are putting on a political showing, and then she’s draped over him like diamonds on the sweaty duchess that keeps batting her eyes slowly at the newly crowned king.

But they are not at a party, and Zoya is not in the mood to entertain this turbulent man.

Her arms cross over her chest as she looks him over lazily, swallowing her irritation before he can see it in her eyes. His face, though, is blank by the time she reaches his gaze. By then, she already knows that whatever is wrong, it’s not him being his usual, smarmy self.

“What?” Her voice is caught between a harsh snap and a reluctant sigh of resignation. When Alina left, Zoya had the great idea that she would be the perfect one to wear the emerald on her beautiful finger. She hadn’t realized, at the time, the work it would be to not only achieve that rock but the work it would take to keep Nikolai on track when he forgot himself.

“I need you to do something for me.”

Her eyes narrow as her lips purse. “What is it this time, Nikolai? I’m busy, you realize. I can’t babysit your every whim because you’re having a rough day.”

He bristles at her words, her tone, and she thinks, maybe this time he’ll walk away. He’ll stay away until he can deal with his problems on his own and she can get back to her own business with the Second Army. Instead, he raises a hand.

Zoya has to wonder if he’s gone truly insane this time, if he thinks he can strike her before she can put him through one of the beautiful windows of his palace. It would be a shame, of course. Finding such workmanship for a good price will be hard these days. He doesn’t though, and she should have known better than that. So instead, her glare flickers over his gloved hand, hiding what she already knows exists beneath the beautiful fabric.

“You’ve seen them.”

Quite intimately, she remembers. “I’ve glanced.”

“I want to see yours.”

And now her head tilts, curls tumbling over her shoulders as her look of irritation is replaced by one of brief confusion. “I am not sure if you remember correctly, what with how inflated your head can get, but I wasn’t made into… Into.” 

Nikolai puffs out an irritable sigh through his lips. “Maybe not on your precious hands, Zoya, but I know you have scars.”

She does. She’s good, but she’s a soldier still. “You’ll owe me, for each one you see.”


	41. I'm Running 'Round In Circles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alarkling, I saw you trying to hit the “door close” button in the elevator but I made it in and then I pushed every single button to make you later for work, but now we’re stuck in this fucking elevator as it stops at every single floor and I don’t know what to say other than “you started it” AU

It doesn’t surprise Alina that he would not even see her, even though she was waving her arm around like a crazy person trying to get him to hold the door. She’s not even surprised that his long fingers would press the close button, because when you’re Aleksander Morozova, president of the Grisha Corporation, you have important places to be and no time to waste on employees who might _also_ need the elevator. She seethes with the idea of it, even as she sprints and shoves her arm into the small space between the closing doors.

She almost hopes it takes her arm off so that he can feel bad about his decisions.

It, sadly, doesn’t. Instead the doors bounce off her flesh and open again. And she’s faced with her boss staring at her with an impassive look on his beautiful face and one arched eyebrow, as if to say, what do you think you are doing here, peasant?

Her nostrils flare. “Thanks for holding the door.”

“My pleasure,” he murmurs in a voice like silk.

Alina tries to tell herself that it’s because she’s still young, and therefore prone to acts of extreme immaturity when her hand slips over the elevator’s panel. Every single floor button, including the garage, lights up. But it isn’t lack of brain development so much as lack of oxygen to her head. She’s angry at his lack of awareness or remorse, and she’s dizzy with the closeness of him. 

But when she risks a glance at his face, there is a quirk at the corner of his mouth, like a smile is trying to free itself. “Now we will both be late.”

He says it like it means nothing to him. 

It doesn’t.

She stares straight ahead, her face burning with each floor they pass. The doors open on the fifth floor, and she sees her friend Genya standing there. Whatever Morozova looks like, it must deter the other woman because she winks and says something about catching the next one.

Alina would like to crawl into a hole now. She will be late. She has made an ass of herself. And more than that, she cannot begin to wonder what the man behind her is thinking when he starts to chuckle.

She glances over her shoulder, mustering up the hottest glare she can manage. “You started this.”

“Did I?”

“You could have held the door open.”

“Then I would have lain awake, tortured by what could have happened if only Miss Starkov had made a fool of herself in my presence.”

Alina decides that it would be bad for her career to hit the man who signs her paychecks.


	42. Plagued With A Quiet Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alarkling, Hogwarts Head Boy/Head Girl sex ed talk

Alina wants nothing more than to crawl into a hole right at this moment. No, actually, she would like nothing more than to blast _Aleksander Morozova_ into a hole. Possibly beneath the lake, where the giant squid can feast on his bones. Her face goes hot, bright red, and her teeth grind together. 

It’s loud enough that a giggly Fourth Year watches her with wide eyes.

How she got volunteered for this, she’ll never know. What does she know about talking to others about sex? Sometimes, she has a hard enough time thinking about it. 

Okay, well…

Maybe not that part.

And it’s as if he can read her mind, the way a dark smirk slides across his lip, eyes lighting up as he tilts his head at her. He looks like a tomcat. Her nose wrinkles at the image, at the insinuation of her own imagination. 

“Miss Starkov,” he murmurs, and the whole room shuts up. She shifts on her feet, rests on the balls first and then rocks back to the heels, back again. Heat blooms in her chest, anger more than anything else.

But that anything else is already sliding down, knotting her belly, slipping further. Because that’s the same voice he used last night, when he had her pressed to the wall, his slender fingers beneath the hem of her uniform’s skirt. It sends a fresh wave of heat over her, and a bead of sweat rolls from her temple to her neck in a long line, and she _swears_ he’s watching it.

And she hates him. Every single arrogant, sexy inch of him.

She’s sending him into the Whomping Willow. She’s leaving him for the Forest. _Anything_ that gets rid of him and his hands on her and the questions on his tongue as he asks about _female excitement._

The crowd seems more interested in their chemistry and his voice than they are in her stuttering presentation.


	43. Run For Cover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadia/Tamar, high school au

“I’m going to ask you something,” Tamar says suddenly, her voice crisp. Nadia starts, head jerking up from her pile of notes she’s currently buried in. Nothing has happened, there’s no ire in her tutor’s voice, but still her cheeks heat up. 

“Are you asking me or warning?” Nadia asks.

The slightest of smirks worms its way onto Tamar’s face, and there’s something far too intriguing about the curve of her lips and the way her dark eyes sparkle. 

“Why are you pretending you need help with math?” Tamar leans back in her seat, one arm draped over the back of the wooden library chair. Her chin lifts up in a challenge, like she’s daring Nadia to keep up with her lie. To fumble through unpracticed words. Because she’s never expected this conversation to happen, honestly. She should have, though.

Tamar is smart. Too smart, and not just in the bookish kind of way. In that clever way that Nadia has no idea how to become, all sly and knowing. It’s one of the first things that Nadia felt attracted to.

She’s starting to realize she has a thing for girls who think high of themselves and know it.

Her lips part to answer, but suddenly Tamar is leaning forward, over the table, too close. Her face feels like it might be on fire.

“You’re not an idiot,” she tells her, and Nadia nods slowly. “If you’re trying to impress that friend of yours, the giggly one, I’m not buying it.”

“It’s not–”

“And I don’t like girls who diminish themselves, either.”

Nadia’s mouth goes dry. “I like being around you.”

That smirk becomes a grin, a flash of white teeth in Nadia’s face. She smells like oranges, this close. “I’d rather have a study partner than a student anyway.”


	44. My Sense Of Fear Is Running Thin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Verbana - Alarkling

There are days where Alina withdraws, from her husband, from the children (orphans and her own alike). She doesn’t like to think of it as hiding, although that’s what Misha calls it when she doesn’t come out of the bedroom and she can hear Mal whispering that she just needs a little time to herself. There’s a part of her that feels bad for it, a small piece that wants to crawl back into their warmth.

Not today, though.

Today, it has been ten years since she lost the sun.

She sits in the window, splaying her fingers and watching the light play over her skin until the sun goes down and shadows begin to creep over her hand instead. That’s what she’s waiting for, really, for the darkness to settle in over her. 

Today is the day she killed the one person who could have fully understood everything she could have been. But she chose love and security over power and… She isn’t sure what she had with Aleksander. Not love. Passion, perhaps, but she has that with Mal. Understanding, a sense of self, a sureness. 

The shadows grow along the floorboards, and her face turns from the window to watch them grow. Every year, she expects to see his face in them, and every year, there is a dull pang of disappointment that shouldn’t have existed to begin with.

Her lips press together so she doesn’t speak the words out loud anymore (she’s learned that lesson), but they’re on the tip of her tongue anyway. They hover in her thoughts.

_Forgive me._

It’s not a plea; it’s a prayer to the last thing she believes in.


	45. Undercover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Darkling & Nikolai

Nikolai learned early on who to watch for at court. Who could be charmed or avoided, who were the players. He was the younger son (and he had also learned that was a maybe) but he knew he was far more clever than his pudgy brother. There were things that could only be learned this way, by taking note, by being invisible.

That was where his fascination with the Darkling grew from. There was a distinct worldview shift from hating the man his father hated to admiring the way he handled the king. He would watch their exchange the way his brother watched horses: bright eyed and on the edge of his seat, his mind racing so fast. Everything about the Darkling was calculated, and Nikolai wanted to breathe that in.

It was not about becoming the Darkling. He didn’t like him, but there was a pit of obsession anyway. 

_“Sobachka.”_

It was his name, but in the Darkling’s smooth voice, like river water over stones. The boy prince froze in his hiding spot before ducking his head around the bush. He subtly pushed his notebook beneath the dirt, so as to not let it be seen.

“I am in the middle of very important business,” Nikolai muttered, hazel eyes wide. “How might I be of service to you?”

It was not a lie, after all. The Darkling’s mouth curled up in a tight smile (Nikolai had learned to tell the differences in those from his mother). In response, Nikolai flashed him a missing-toothed grin.

“Important business?” His eyebrow arched. “I would hate to keep you for too long then, _Sobachka._ ”

The way the Darkling said his nickname sounded more like an insult, like it was dirty. Nikolai kept his grin, though. Better to look stupid and childish than to reveal his own hand. 

“I can make time for you.”

The tight lines of the Darkling’s mouth relaxed a bit, amusement glittering in his eyes. “There will come a time, young prince, where you will have no choice in that. But not today. I would hate to keep you from your important business.”

Nikolai waited as the man swept his dark _kefta_ behind him and continued on his walk. His heart pounded in his chest, his palms sweaty and breathing irregular. There was something in that smile, in those words, that had terrified the prince. 

He did not like the Darkling, but he did admire him. But now he knew there was true reason to be wary of him, as well.


	46. Just Like A Candle In The Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolina, let me see your scars

Even after ten years, the scars remain. Less vibrant than they had been once upon a time, but they never fade. Not like the small scars of hers from childhood that grew so pale they just blended into her skin. She glances behind her, making sure the room is empty before she slides the robe partway off of her shoulder. The marks are still dark pink, her skin wound together.

It’s been ten years since she burned Aleksander’s body, and his marks still touch her skin.

They still touch her soul.

The advantage of staring so hard into her vanity mirror, of course, is seeing her husband fail miserably at creeping up behind her. She waits to see that flash of his smile, eyes bright, but today there is a darkness as he stares at her exposed mark. 

This is why she waited to see if she was alone. Because if Nikolai caught her brooding over the past, then he doesn’t miss an opportunity to trip headfirst into it. And after the first few years, that kind of thing gets tiring.

His hands are enclosed in soft cotton - his work gloves. They’re warm against her skin as he traces the lines of her bite mark. A frown tugs at the corners of his mouth, deepening the lines there. He is handsome, beautiful, but he wears his tragedy heavily on his body.

They both do.

“I thought you were tinkering with your toys,” she mutters.

He makes a face at her. “It’s not tinkering.”

“So you admit they’re toys?” Alina forces herself to sound light, happy. There are some battles that are harder to fight than others. She’s too young to already know that, and yet.

His mouth bends to her shoulder, lips replacing fingers. She’s glad. She hates those gloves. She’d burn them all if she could get away with it.

She’s tried.

But he locked himself up in his workshop for a month after that, the worst of the tantrums when she had to be more Queen and Saint than anything else. It was not a particularly good moment during their marriage, she admits. And she has not made the same mistake again.

That’s the problem, sometimes, with marrying someone not for love, not for the stability of it, but because he is the only other person who could come close to understand the darkness in her too.

His mouth works over her neck. “I will give you toys. Compromise is my middle name.”

She laughs, taking one of his hands and peeling off his gloves until the pinks of his scars reflect back in her mirror. “Bullshit.”


	47. Tell Everybody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nadia/Tamar, adventuring! (maybe on behalf of King Sturmhond??)

“We’re lost.”

“We are not,” Tamar says firmly. Much more firmly than she had an hour ago, when Nadia had brought up the current situation of directionless. It almost hovers on the tone of snappish, but Nadia is choosing to not hear that part. 

She does, however, level a quiet stare at her girlfriend’s back as they trample over the same trampled-over bush.

“King Nikolai expects us to meet with his… partners in Shu Han in four days,” Nadia pushes.

At least, four days was what was left of their time. They had been traveling for the last fortnight, discreetly. His partners were more of the unsavory type. Pirates, Nadia had murmured. Tamar had grinned that wicked smile of hers, the one she kept for the rarest of occasions - the ones that Nadia was not going to think of just now, because she was meant to keep her cool and push the issue that they were lost. _Privateers._

Tamar stops by the tree with the rubbed away bark. Possibly from a deer, Nadia assumes. She’s not as good with the whole wilderness thing. She’s also not that good with navigating, although she feels like both of these skills are ones she’s going to work on. 

The warrior woman frowns as she glances over her shoulder. “I have been following the compass Nikolai built for us. It has led us this far.”

Nadia stuffs down any of her irritation that might have been building. Admitting to being lost, it can’t be easy for Tamar. And normally, she would be more than happy to disappear with her girlfriend, to learn to love nature as much as she can with someone she loves next to her. But they are on a mission for Ravka, and she cannot fail. She cannot let anything happen to Tamar or Tolya or Adrik or even _Zoya_ because of pride.

She comes up next to Tamar, shoulders brushing. “But we’re going in circles. We keep passing the same markers.”

Tamar’s eyes turn hard, but she knows it’s not anger at Nadia so much as the same pressures of needing to protect their home with this deal. “I should have known. Something is causing it to stop working.” She moves to throw it, but Nadia pries it from her fingers gently, pocketing it.

“You can lead us the right way,” she says softly before leaning in and capturing her mouth in a sweet, brief kiss. “But perhaps do not throw away the toys the king makes us. He can have a bit of a temper these days.”


	48. Brothers, Sisters, The End Is Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baghra & the Darkling, things you said when we were the happiest we ever were

He is still small and hasn’t yet begun to question the world around him. Why his scenery changes. Why she doesn’t let him play with the other children often. Why they are always leaving in the dead of night. He is not quite there yet, although she can see the intelligence burning in his eyes.

He sometimes looks like someone else in those moments, if she lets herself get too sentimental. But that is not a thing Baghra does often, and when she feels herself sliding into those moments, she shakes it off and runs her fingers through his unruly hair.

“I like this new home,” he tells her quietly one night. Outside, a snowstorm rages on, wind battling against the logs of their residence. Despite her best efforts, a bitter cold still seeps through.

Baghra sits near the fire, casting a long glance at her young son as he toddles towards her. His pants are too big, she muses, and his feet are tripping over the ends.

“Do you?”

“It’s quiet.”

Aleksander has always liked the quiet. She supposes she could say he gets it from her, but it’s more than likely a product of their lifestyle.

“Except for that wind,” she points out. 

Very solemnly, he looks to the whited-out window and listens to the shrieks whistling through naked trees. “Other than the wind, Mother.”

When he gets close enough to her knees, she scoops him up and cradles him on her lap. Soon, he will be too big for this. Too big to cuddle with her next to the fire, too big to keep silent about why they never stay anywhere for long. 

But for now, he rests a sleepy head against her shoulder and watches the storm while she watches the flames.

“I wish we could stay here.”

Baghra rests a cheek on his warm head. “You belong in something greater than a cabin, Aleksander. Remember that.”

But part of her wishes they could, too.


	49. Oh, We Are Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genvan, things you said with no space between us

He doesn’t know how it happens this way, but he’s practically glued at the hip with Genya as they wake their underground, further down until sunlight is just another dream. His body aches in ways he had not thought possible, but Ivan supposes that at least he’s alive. In a fashion, in any case. 

They are all strangely alive in a fashion.

His arm remains firmly wrapped around Genya’s waist, but it’s gone numb at the shoulder hours ago. He hasn’t let go because he doesn’t know what it means to do so just yet. If he does, will she collapse? Probably. She’s weak in more ways than one, and he doubts without his bare minimum use of strength to keep her feet dragging, she’d just collapse and curl up on herself.

All because of some facial scars.

He hasn’t let go because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he’s not keeping her pressed against his side, either. There had never been any question where his loyalty lied. His gaze strays to the prone form of the Sun Summoner, and he knew that it wasn’t with her. But he couldn’t exactly say that his loyalties were with the Darkling, either.

“You’re walking too fast,” Genya growled under her breath, her red hair limp and hiding most of her face.

“You’re not walking at all,” Ivan points out gruffly.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

She falls silent again. It’s the same conversation they’ve had the last five times, word for word.

No.

“We’re alive,” Ivan tells her. “That means something, and I will drag you however far I have to until we figure out what that means.”

It seems impossible, but she goes even limper in her arm. He wonders if he can just sling her over his shoulder.


	50. Now We're Just Going To Ride It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolai/Alina/Mal, good morning kiss

It doesn’t get any less strange to wake up in a tangle of limbs the 10th time than it had been the first time. They all sleep in awkward positions as it is. Mal curves around her back, melding his body into hers, his arm thrown haphazardly so that his hand dangles over Nikolai’s hip. Nikolai sleeps with his back to them, almost curled in on himself. He says it’s because of the nightmares, he’d rather not hit either of them in case he can’t wake up in time.

He hasn’t had any nightmares that Alina has noticed since this arrangement began. 

She opens her eyes, notices Nikolai watching her. He’s awake, quiet. Unusual. Her brow furrows, lips parting to begin to form a question on her tired tongue when he scoots close enough for her to feel is body heat. There’s something comforting about that.

There’s also something that sparks heat along her skin, too, but she tries to ignore that in favor of his silence. 

“Good morning. Did you know that saints do, in fact, snore?” Nikolai asks her, his beautiful mouth curling into a very irritating smirk. She wants to punch him.

Behind her, Mal snorts into her skin. 

“I hate you both,” Alina mutters, attempting to wiggle her way off the bed, but Mal catches her around the waist, keeping her pinned against him. His lips are soft, warm, as they press into her shoulder.

“You shouldn’t lie,” Mal warns her.

“Yes,” Nikolai says with a pout. “It hurts my feelings deeply.” He pressed a hand to his heart and sighs dramatically. 

“I really don’t care,” Alina tells him. Her eyes are still rolling when he steals a kiss from her.


	51. Every Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolai/Zoya, privateers

“I don’t make deals with pirates,” Zoya says. Her voice is chillier than the sea spray itself, but Sturmhond merely smiles. 

He mirrors her stance with one hand on his hip, jutting it out just a bit. He’s rewarded with a scalding glare at odds with her tone. 

“That’s not what you said last night,” Sturmhond responds in a voice pitched low. 

Her face goes red. Not the kind of red he has seen on the faces of girls too easily attached. No, this is the particular shade of a woman who is thinking of all the ways that she can flay him alive so that his suffering will be at its most optimal. He grins at her, all teeth. His gaze flickers down the length of her body.

She had not known last night who he was, otherwise he knows that she wouldn’t have tumbled into his bed with him. Zoya is many things, but mostly professional is one of them. If not, the Darkling would have never sent her on the king’s orders.

“And besides,” he hurries on, “it’s _privateer._ ” 

She looks suitably less impressed with that information. “You run ships off course, steal from them, and leave them for dead. Just because you’re getting paid for it doesn’t make you any less of a _pirate._ ”

Her finger jabs into his chest, and two of his crew step forward. But Zoya doesn’t look impressed by that, either. She doesn’t even look the least bit worried. He supposes she owes her a little bit here. After all, he knew who she was the moment she entered that tavern last night.

Sturmhond takes her hand in his, bowing to kiss her knuckles. “Titles aside, would you like to step into my office to further conduct our… business?”

There’s murder written on her face, hidden behind that clenched jaw of hers. Reminding herself that she is here on actual business and that Ravka needs a man like himself. It’s not the most satisfying victory, but then… Last night more than makes up for it.


	52. I'm Staring Shadows In The Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alarkling ft. Lady Darkling, dark

The Darkling’s breath trails over her neck, and Alina attempts to suppress a shudder. It doesn’t work, because as well as she is learning to dance around this woman. Her hand trail over Alina’s hip, across her stomach. She feels her against her back. 

“My Alina,” the Darkling murmurs, lips brushing the skin on the side of her neck as she slides starlight hair away with her other hand. 

“I’m not your anything,” she says in return, her breath hitching as the older woman’s mouth leaves a steady trail down her shoulder, over the fabric of her shirt.

“You belong to me the same as I belong to you.”

The words sound false, coming from the Darkling. Nobody owns this woman but herself, and maybe that is the problem. That she has grown up believing she has no true equal, that she is everything that she can’t let herself be for anything else. She can’t even give herself to Ravka, not fully.

Alina understands that, and maybe that’s why she’s the closest that will ever come to say that she has a piece of the Darkling. It’s a lie, but it’s the closest to the truth that the Darkling can come.

The Darkling’s pale hand moves from her hip and down Alina’s thigh, fingers digging in sharply. “There was something I wanted to show you in the dark once, Alina. Would you let me now?”

Alina finds herself leaning back into the woman’s chest, the feel of her breasts against her back making her as dizzy as that traveling hand, as the cool scent of a woman who is there but isn’t really. Yes, is what she wants to say. Show me, show me, take me.

But those words need to die as much as the Darkling does.

“No, Aleksandra.”

A sigh, and then the phantom is gone again, leaving a poor excuse for a saint wanting.


	53. Oh Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alarkling, first day of school

Alina only takes the class because it’s part of her gen ed requirements. Not that psychology _isn’t_ interesting. Maybe. She can’t say she’s really cared all that much, but it’s a requirement and well… Mal wanted to take the class. And she’s going to take as many classes with him as she can, before their majors veer them off in different directions. 

She settles into a seat next to her best friend, near the front of the class. She’d rather be in the back, but Mal is apparently more attentive than she is. 

“You look agitated,” he whispers to her.

She glares. “It’s 8am, are you kidding me?”

Who the hell tortures students at 8 in the morning with psychology?

Professor Morozova, apparently. She almost mistakes him for another student when he stands up from behind the desk at the front of the lecture hall. He’s young. And beautiful. Can you call a man beautiful? That’s what he is, and Alina feels like professors with Ph.D.’s should not look like he does. A collective sigh goes around the room when the barest flicker of a smile moves across his face like a shadow. 

Alina glances around her, at the other seats filling up, at the room as a whole. Mostly female, she realizes.

“I’m glad to see all of you were here on time,” Morozova begins. “Good. I will not tolerate tardiness in my class.” Another smile, brighter. Alina feels her pulse increase when he directs it at her, but that’s a stupid thought. There are a lot of people in this class, and she’s not much of anything. “I’m Professor Morozova, and I look forward to getting to know you.”

“So he can dissect our minds and find our greatest fears,” Mal whispers under his breath, and Alina snorts. She has heard a lot of things about their professor along the lines of terror inducing.

This time, his gaze really does zero in on Alina. One dark brow arches elegantly. Her face flushes crimson. “Miss Starkov, please stay after the lecture.”

She nods, mutely, and tries to not wonder how he even knew who she was to begin with.


	54. Will You Just Wait Until I Die?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baghra & the Darkling, who owns this place?

It’s a nice cabin, as far as cabins go. Aleksander has seen shabby places. Pieces of wall missing where the snow gathers in and creates puddles on the floor and forces him to curl up into his mother’s side. They don’t belong in those places, though. He knows they don’t. So when his mother lets go of his hand so she can open the door, there’s a sort of comfort in what she presents to him.

Because they deserve a nice home. Because his mother deserves to be warm and he just wants to feel safe. 

He looks up at her with gray eyes, and there’s a slight curl of a smile on her beautiful face. “Are you going to step inside, boy?”

_Boy._

He will be someone else again, he supposes. That’s been a reality for the last few years, since he was four and his mother had to very carefully explain why she couldn’t always call him by his name, why Aleksander had to be a secret.

_Boy._

He wonders if he can have a Fjerdan name this time, something with flavor. He’s only ten, but trying on names is like trying on clothes, and he likes to wear something that expresses himself.

“Who owns this place?” he asks instead of walking inside.

Baghra leaves him on the doorstep with a shake of her head. “It is mine.”

“But for how long?”

Will it be like his favorite shirt that she recently made him discard? Too many holes and frayed edges and the color seeping out of it like something left in the sun for too long. Will they discard this nice cabin for another shack? For a tent in the forest? For a slum or a camp?

She watches him from inside with a quiet look. “For however long is necessary. Now will you come inside, or do you plan on living in the yard like a dog?”

His nose wrinkles. “Can we get a dog?”

“No.”

She shuts the door behind him and ruffles the dark mess of hair on his head.


	55. I Just Want To Take It In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolina/Alarkling- Model UN AU please

Alina pinches the bridge of her nose. She’s been in this room for about five minutes, and already she wants to run away. She could have been freezing her butt off outside, watching Mal’s practice. He had the better idea of it, leaving the politics to others while he stuck to sports. It’s not even real politics, she tells herself. It’s a bunch of dumb kids bickering under flags.

But Aleksander - Mr. Morozova - thought she could benefit from this kind of extracurricular activity. _Your grades are not spectacular, Miss Starkov, but I think I have a way for you to make it up to me._

So here Alina was, in Model U.N., for extra credit and for boosting up her high school experience.

“Alina!”  


Ravka himself, Nikolai Lantsov, strides over to her with a wide grin on his face. Her brows knit in confusion. How does he even know her name? They’ve had classes together, sure, but they’re not exactly on an acquaintance level.

“Hi?”  


She looks around, hoping to spot Mr. Morozova so she can excuse herself, but Nikolai doesn’t understand the idea of personal space, popping immediately into her bubble. He hovers over her, grinning ear to ear. What does he have to be so happy about anyway? He’s more handsome up close, she realizes, and the thought makes her grumpier. A scowl begins to tug at her mouth.

“I didn’t know you were interested in politics.”  


“I’m not.”  


She glances around him, seeing Zoya Nazyalensky watching her with a disinterested frown. Seeing her makes Alina even less happy about being here. She’s _definitely_  not acquaintances with that one.

Nikolai fills her vision as he moves into her line of sight, both eyebrows raised. “Extra credit?”

“Kind of,” she admits.  


He rubs his chin now, as if he’s thinking. “Don’t worry, Alina. I’ll teach you everything that I know. You can join Ravka.”

Before she can even protest, he’s walking away from her with every confidence that she’s going to follow. 

She doesn’t.

Until Mr. Morozova slides up behind her, carefully whispering in her ear that Ravka is where he wants her.


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaah! Can I ask for the "@ the museum for inspiration, you're starin at a painting and I draw you" with Alina and Zoya? (｡♥‿♥｡)

Alina’s talents have never really lied in her artistry. Not that she’s actually an art major or anything. And the class she’s taking is more about drawing maps during hikes than it is people anyway. But there’s something about the way the other girl is holding herself that makes her feel compelled to at least sketch out the fine lines of her body.

She looks imperious. Better than everyone else. It’s not that Alina is attracted to that particular kind of asshole, but the dark haired girl looks like art. Her head tilts and her dark hair tumbles elegantly over one shoulder. She rests a hand on her hip, looking at ease in the museum but with her nose held up high at the idea of modern art.

Alina can’t blame her. Squiggly lines on a white canvas is not something she gets at all. Maybe that’s the point, maybe you’re supposed to figure out what it means to you. 

The girl glances over her shoulder and spots Alina, pencil tip poised. Their eyes meet and then they don’t when Alina quickly ducks her head again and pretends that she hasn’t noticed the other girl at all. She misses the way the girl’s lips tilt up in a smile that’s more dangerous than it is friendly. And when Alina looks up again, the girl has moved on and away from her. That’s fine. She’s etched into her mind anyway, all elegant lines and judgmental curves that don’t translate well to the paper in her lap at all. Her nose wrinkles.

“What is that even supposed to be?” The tip of a finely manicured finger taps roughly at the sketch in Alina’s lap. “Ugh, I hope it’s not me. You really should have just taken a picture. Other people have.”

The girl’s face is right next to her, lips curled up in disgust. She looks better up close and smells impossibly good. Alina purses her lips, huffs, and jumps off of the bench.

“Excuse me,” she mutters, glaring at the girl.

The girl puts both of her hands on her hips. “You’re the one creeping on me with your terrible art, so don’t get an attitude.”

Alina flushes bright red, her face hotter than the summer sun. “I didn’t–”

“Mean to draw me so hideously?” The girl flips her hair over her shoulder. “Unforgiven. You’re going to have to make it up to me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Dinner. And maybe I’ll let you take that picture for dessert.”

Alina turns purple. “I don’t want a picture. I don’t even know you.”

“The name’s Zoya, and I’m the girl you’re going to apologize profusely to.”


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zoya x genya for neighbor who gardens in her bikini :D

The bikini barely fits and yet covers everything that needs to be covered. It’s bold, Zoya will give her that. It’s like the neighbor decided that she needed to buy it at least two sizes too small. She thought it tacky at first, when she saw the red thing a few days ago, once the weather started to get nice out, once the flowers began to bloom. 

Not just because it was an obvious scream for attention, which it is. Which Zoya has been giving. What can she say, as annoying as Genya is, her body is almost perfection. A step down from her own, sure, but good enough to be looked at.

No, it’s because Genya insists on doing all of her gardening in these strips of fabric that manage to stay in place no matter how many times she bends or kneels or twists. It’s because she wears heels as she does it. It’s because it’s so ridiculous to watch.

Zoya sips her drink as Genya pulls at a very stubborn weed this morning, ass in the air. She wants to roll her eyes at the performance, but they’re a little busy following the wiggle that accompanies the struggle. The weed comes out, and Genya puffs out the breath she was holding. Dirt barely stains her fingers, and that’s a mystery in and of itself, Zoya thinks. 

The woman looks over at Zoya and waves, weed in hand. “Morning, neighbor.”

“Staying classy, I see,” Zoya greets.

That smile Genya gives her is equal parts seductive and aggressive. “You would know all about class, Zoya. Voyeurism is a good look for you.”

“You’d have to give me something a little better to get me off, Genya.”

That smile is all aggressive seduction now. “I’ll work on it.”


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toontown:"I'd love to embrace you, but first, I have to satisfy my sense of moral outrage." Mal/Alina/Nikolai

“Are we going to stop him?”

Alina crosses her arms over her chest, tilting her chin up as she looks at Mal. But her gaze flickers back to Nikolai as he stomps away from the two of them, yelling at the group of boys who had just a few seconds earlier said a few distasteful things. 

“Have you ever tried to stop Nikolai before?” she asks instead.

Mal sighs. It’s the sigh of a man who has, in fact, tried to stop Nikolai before. It’s the same sound that comes out of Alina as well. Because she also has tried. Not anymore, though. Stopping him is a useless gesture. It’s better sometimes to let him get all the hot air out until he deflates. Unless he’s seconds away from death.

And then Mal steps in.

The boys start to look properly chastised, though, instead of murderous. 

“All they said was that he must have been the girl.”

“Maybe he’s defending your honor,” Mal suggests.

Alina shrugs. “I think this is about his honor.”

“He’s the one who insists on being in the middle.”

“I don’t even like holding hands.”

Nikolai finally returns to them a few minutes later, looking much like the cat that caught the canary. Alina leans against Mal, whose arm is wrapped around her shoulder. Nikolai grins despite the identical unimpressed looks the both of them wear. 

“Don’t I get a hug for setting them right?” Nikolai spreads his arms.

“No.” Mal rolls his eyes.

“We’re late,” Alina grumbles.


End file.
